


Just Like Heaven

by rosebud_girl



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Just Like Heaven (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gardening is good for your mental health, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Largely cannon compliant, M/M, Post-Canon, Simon is a gardener
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_girl/pseuds/rosebud_girl
Summary: Set eight years after Carry On.  Pretty much cannon compliant except Baz and Simon never got together. Penny has moved to America to live with Micah and Simon is flat hunting. He finds a short-term sub-let in the perfect area of London.  Unfortunately the current owner hasn't completely moved out..."I’m trying to imagine what you’re doing in my apartment," someone says from the other side of the room. "Rubbing yourself on my furniture like a dog. I’m sure there’s a homeless shelter near here, where you can get a change of clothes and a good meal for Crowley’s sake."I leap up, knocking my empty mug over.There’s a tall, slim guy standing in the flat, wearing a dark suit and an imperious look. His black hair is swept back from his face, revealing an unmistakable widows peak and brooding grey eyes.What the fuck?***Epilogue as promised***





	1. Move on now

**Author's Note:**

> I saw "Just Like Heaven" over the holidays and it got me thinking about how this would work with our gorgeously stupid boys. So obviously I don’t take credit for the plot or the characters. It's just a bit of fun and probably totally predictable. I'm back to school on Monday, but will try to update regularly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text conversation, Simon is in bold, Gareth in normal font.

**Simon**

"It’s hopeless," I say. "I’ve got to be out of the flat in just under two weeks and the only places that I can afford are the size of a flibbertigibbet."

"It can’t be that bad, surely?" Penny says patiently. "What about that one you were so excited about last night, the one with park views?"

We’ve been having practically the same Skype conversation most days for the last month. She listens to me moaning about the state of the west London rental market, and I listen to her talk about aeroplanes and American supermarkets and Micah’s big family.

"The whole place wasn’t much bigger than your old room at Watford."

She laughs, like I’m exaggerating. Well, her room _was_ tiny; she was always complaining about Trixie getting pixie dust over all of her stuff.

"I’m serious, Pen. I think the legal requirement for prison cells is greater. And as for the ‘park view’, well, it was a basement flat and if you looked up through window, you could just about see the railings. Then the only other place I could afford was so damp I’d have been able to cultivate various forms of moss and lichen in the living room. Talk about taking your work home with you."

Her smile fades.

"Oh, Simon. I’m so sorry. I thought that two months would be plenty of time to find either a new flat mate or somewhere else to live."

"Yeah, but you’re forgetting my little issue. I can’t exactly share with anyone outside of the magickal world can I? I can’t keep my wings and tail hidden twenty four hours a day, so that somewhat limits my options. It’s not like we’ve kept in touch with many of our friends from Watford, and those we have are either married or disappeared to far flung places."

"Or both." Penny adds, saying what she knows I’m thinking.

"Yeah, well, it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming," I say. "It’s just the longer it didn’t happen, the more complacent I got. I knew the flat wasn’t big enough for the three of us, and you’d always planned to move to Chicago eventually, but I guess I’d just tried not to think about it."

"It’d be even smaller for four of us," she says, so matter-of-factly I almost miss it.

I stare at her; tired eyes sparkle behind her crazy witch glasses.

"Penny, you’re… I mean…"

"Yeah, three months" Her voice is softer now. "I wanted to tell you as soon as we found out, but Micah said we should wait a bit."

This is obviously the reason for her call and I’ve been banging on about my problems. Nice one Simon.

"That’s fantastic news," I grin.

I can’t help it. Just because I can’t sort my own shit out, doesn’t mean I’m not happy that Penny’s life is finally coming together.

"I know. And telling you makes it finally feel… real."

Micah’s been lurking in the background and comes and stands behind her, leaning over her shoulder.

"Hey, Simon."

"Congratulations mate."

"Yeah, we’re super-excited. I’ve been decorating the nursery and Penny’s been looking up magickal baby names already. I’m hoping she’ll choose something solid and sensible - there are some really weird and wonderful ones out there."

"Yeah, I can think of a few," I huff, trying (unsuccessfully) not to think of my old roommate.

I scratch the hair at the back of my neck. How can even the vague suggestion of his name still cause me to feel hot and prickly? I swallow thickly.

"Well, just don’t fucking call it Simon," I say, trying to sound flippant. "Unless you want it to turn out to be the biggest disappointment the world of Mages has ever seen."

"Oh, Simon," Penny says. "You offed the Mage, you’re a practically a hero in my eyes."

"Yeah, right, I’m a washed up, soon to be homeless, ex-chosen one, with no friends, no magic and a ridiculous pair of dragon wings and let’s not forget the comical devil tail. What a great role model."

"Enough, Simon! Don’t make a pregnant and hormonal witch angry..."

She glares at me and I’m glad of the glasses and the phone screen acting as a double buffer.

"I worry enough about you burning the place down without me as it is, and anyway, you’ve got at least two and a bit friends," she continues, patting her tummy "We might not be there right now, but we haven’t stopped caring. Don’t let this flat business drag you back down again. Have you still got the number for that magickal psychologist?"

Shit, now my attempt at self-depreciating wit has upset her.

"I’m fine, Penny. Just being melodramatic."

Her lips are set in a straight line.

"I promise!"

"Hmm. Well, look, I’ll get my parents to ask around, yeah? Maybe they know someone who’s looking for a new house mate."

"Thanks, but I’ve already asked them. I think your mum was worried that I was trying to move in with them ‘cause she walked off with her laptop already open and said she’d make some calls."

Penny’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

"Yeah, I can imagine. I forgot you see them so often."

"Well, who else can do **these aren’t the droids you’re looking for** on me?"

Penny had tried to do it via skype, but, fairly predictably, it didn’t work, so I’ve been having to get up really early to get her parents to do it every morning before I go to work. I’m paranoid that I’ll be asked to stay late and it will wear off before I can get home or that someone will see me as I cycle manically through the suburban dawn, huge customised rucksack on my back…

"Nicks and Slick, it’s really not ideal is it? I thought you’d finally decided to have them removed?"

"I did," I nod sadly.

I know they’re a massive inconvenience, it’s just they’re the last link I have with the magickal world. Without them I’m just Simon. Okay, so there were days when being ‘just Simon’, felt like it would be the biggest blessing ever, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go. That is, until Penny and Micah had finally made up their minds to go to Chicago and we’d realised quite what a difficult situation that was going to put me in.

Micah had been amazing though, and through various connections had found a London-based magickal surgeon who could do the job. Unfortunately, the surgeon hadn’t been in the country at the time, but I’d had a consultation with his assistant who had assured me that he’d spoken to him about my case, that it was totally possible and that as soon as he got back, they’d be in touch with me. That was a couple of months ago now, and all I’ve had since was a letter on expensive-looking headed paper, saying that the consultant was still currently unavailable and that they would be in touch.

"So?"

"Still waiting to get an appointment with the consultant," I say. "It’s been fairly low on my priorities over finding somewhere to live."

"Oh, right. Well don’t keep putting it off," Penny sighs. Like she feels sorry for me, but is on the edge of being fed-up. "It’s time for a new start for all of us isn’t it? And don’t worry about the flat, something’ll turn up, Simon, you’ll see."

"I’m sure you’re right," I say, although I'm not sure at all.  "Now, go back to your baby name book and get Micah to magic you a cup of tea and a biscuit."

Micah sort of snorts and wanders off, probably to make tea.

"Good-night, Simon. Speak to you tomorrow."

"Congratulations, again," I say, but she’s already gone.

As soon as I’m alone, I change into my pyjamas and crawl into my bed, sighing. I’m trying hard not to worry and I’m usually pretty good at not thinking about things. Penny’d found our flat through some friend of her dad’s and I never really thought much about it. It’s just been our home since leaving Watford seven years ago. It’s on the fourth floor of a small complex of apartments just a mile or so from where Penny grew up. We each had our own decent-sized bedroom, plus there was a bathroom, a living room and a small but functional kitchen. It’s not the most glamourous part of London, but it’s got a parade of shops and a couple of decent pubs. There’s a tube station, or I can cycle into work in around twenty minutes. It’s been pretty much perfect to be honest.

And now it’s all gone to shit.

I’ve got to be out in two weeks and the only places I can afford are either too small to swing a cat (let alone spread my wings), or constitute a serious health hazard.

********

(18.09) **Hey Gareth, still got that van of yours?**

(18.10) I’m fine thanks for asking Simon. Yourself?

(18.10) **Sorry bit out of the blue I know**

(18.10) What's six months between friends?  You alright then?

(18.10) **Yeah. I’m good**

(18.10) **Got to move out of my flat tomorrow and Penny said I should ask you**

(18.11) I know she called me it’s fine 

(18.11) She also told me to keep an eye on you

(18.12) **Oh**

(18.12) Don’t worry about it ok? Luckily I’m a sad git with no plans this weekend so I can help out

(18.12) **Thanks**

(18.13) So where you moving to then?

(18.13) **Kew Foot Road**

(18.13) What??

(18.13) Didn’t know gardening paid that well

(18.14) **It doesn’t**

(18.15) So what d’you do then? Rob a bank?

(18.15)  **Long story**

(18.15) **Short version is: someone at work knows someone who wanted to sublet their son’s flat for a month or so.**

(18.15) Bit pricey though isn't it?

(18.15) **They don’t want much rent just someone in there to stop it being empty and a target for burglars**

(18.16) Lucky sod, those places are worth a mint

(18.16) **Yeah**

(18.16) **so I’ve only got a few boxes of stuff and my bike**

(18.16) Yeah no problem bud

(18.17) Rhys says to ask you if you fancy going for pint afterwards

(18.17) **I think I’ll owe you at least one**

(18.17) I reckon.

(18.17) Alright then bud. See you tomorrow.

*********

 

Now that Gareth has gone, I’m standing in the living room, my few possessions in the old Watford kit bag and couple of boxes at my feet. I ask myself what the bleeding hell I’m doing here. In pretty much the poshest flat in the whole of Kew. Which, to be fair, I probably should have thought about when the letting agent called me about the place, or when I first looked round it, or before I’d signed the lease.

I never think.

When I’d sent Penny the link with the details, she’d flipped her shit.

"Enviably located moments from Richmond town centre with views over Old Deer Park from a large private balcony, this two bedroom, two bathroom modern flat is set in a gated development with allocated off-street parking," she read. "Simon, you do realise the rental value of this property is over four thousand pounds a month, don’t you?"

"What?"

I hadn’t. I mean, it was obviously posher than any of the places I’d been looking at, but they were only asking for five hundred pounds to cover the bills and stuff. I was just too busy trying not to end up homeless to stop and think.

"Look at the place. Are you serious, Simon? Have you seen the paintings? The furniture? I think that’s a Louis XV chair. Simon, you cannot eat or drink anywhere near all those white sofas, or the Persian rugs come to mention it. It’s not like I’m there to **clean as a whistle** them for you if you spill tea or curry on them is it?"

Penny’s right of course, I think as I walk into the glossy white kitchen and put the kettle on. The very expensive-looking, shiny kettle. I wander down the long hallway whilst I wait for it to boil. I go past the second bedroom and the two bathrooms, to the master bedroom. It’s another posh joke. I’m in a bedroom so grand there’s a chandelier, as well as a huge guilt-framed mirror an enormous bed and a chaise longue. Further guilt frames contain paintings and sketches, and I look at each one, fascinated by how anyone decides what they should buy and where to hang it. There’s lots of artwork of different styles all over the apartment, from photography, to graffiti art, to retro film posters, to the more classic oil paintings and sepia sketches in here. I look at the nearest sketch and my cheeks flush as it suddenly dawns on me that there is a common theme to the artwork in the bedroom; that of toned, naked men. I hurry back to the kitchen, trying to ignore the strange, fluttery feeling in my stomach.

I take my mug of tea, slump down on the sofa and flick through the TV channels. I almost can’t believe there’s a TV. The rest of the place is so fucking posh. I mean… it does look like a really expensive television. Big. And thin. With the most amazing sound and picture quality. But still, it feels a little out of place. A bit like me, I laugh to myself putting my feet up on the coffee table. There’s a hole in the toe of one of my white sport socks, and I imagine Penny rolling her eyes, and telling me to throw them away, but as there’s no-one here to see me, I don’t worry about it.

I’m knackered. Maybe I’ll sleep here in front of some crappy rom-com on Netflix rather than go back to the rather intimidating bedroom. It’s raining and the gentle patter as it hits the window is making me even sleepier. My wings are sore from being cooped up all day and I rub them against the slightly rough texture of the linen sofa. It feels so good.

"I’m trying to imagine what you’re doing in my apartment," someone says from the other side of the room. "Rubbing yourself on my furniture like a dog. I’m sure there’s a homeless shelter near here, where you can get a change of clothes and a good meal for Crowley’s sake."

I leap up, knocking my empty mug over.

There’s a tall, slim guy standing in the flat, wearing a dark suit and an imperious look. His black hair is swept back from his face, revealing an unmistakable widows peak and brooding grey eyes.

What the fuck?

"B…Baz?" I stammer. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title Move on now by Hard-Fi


	2. Do you know what I'm seeing?

"What?" he says sharply.

"I…I’m not homeless," I say. I live here."

He looks me up and down, the all too familiar sneer on his face.

"You're being ridiculous. This is my apartment."

"Since when?"

"Since I bought it," he says.

"You bought it?"

"Yes."

Is he trying to mess with me? Is this some kind of plot? I really don’t need this.

"Okay, I get it, it’s a fucking set up isn’t it?"

Merlin I’m thick.

"What?"

"There’s probably five other people who’ve paid their deposit and got the keys …"

"Right... and moved in all of their things…" he says slowly.

Like I’m incredibly stupid.

"What?" I say, my mouth hanging open.

Probably looking incredibly stupid.

"These are my belongings, all of them," he gestures round the room. "My sofa, my television, my coffee table – wait, is that a ring? Haven’t you ever heard of a coaster? Or at least **_clean as a whistle_**?"

"Baz, it’s me, Simon. I can't do magic."

It’s like he doesn’t recognise me. But that’s impossible, we spent eight years sharing a room.

"I don’t care who you are, you are going to clean that up the normal way. It’s like a worseger moved into my apartment."

He goes into the kitchen.

I follow, "Wait, Baz?"

There’s no-on there.

I race out into the hallway, feet slipping on the wooden floors.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

Of course there isn't.

I shake my head.

I should go to bed, it’s been a long day, but I decide to take a shower now that I’m up off the sofa. Afterwards, I slip on my flannel pyjama bottoms and flop the towel round my neck. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I realise it’s not surprising that he mistook me for a homeless person; I’m a mess and I need a shave. I bend down to splash water on my face.

"I said, get out!"

My head whips up and I look in the mirror. He’s standing behind me and looks really pissed off, but when I spin round, he’s not there. I run my hands though my hair – it’s the stress of moving. Being surrounded by all this posh stuff is obviously stirring unpleasant memories.

I need to talk to Penny.

I check the time; she should be home from work by now.

Her chubby face appears on my phone and I’ve never been so glad to see her. Thank magic for technology. It’s so much better than at school when she had to possess people or dogs to speak to me across any distance.

"Hey Penny, have you got time to talk?"

"Of course! How’s the new swanky apartment? Gareth said it was amazingly posh..."

I can tell she’s been waiting to look round the place and can’t wait any longer, but I interrupt her stream of chatter.

"Um, Penny? Can I talk to you about something?"

"Oh, sorry, Simon. Of course, what is it? Are you okay? You look a bit rough."

"What? Um... nothing really."

"So you called me about nothing?"

She’s giving me that look.

"I’ve um.. well, I’ve sort of been seeing someone."

Her face lights up.

"Finally!"

"Oh you think it’s a good thing?"

"Absolutely. Yes. Gareth said the last time he tried to set you up with someone, you cancelled at the last minute. That’s unkind and not like you, Simon – I was worried. But this is good. The fact that you initiated it by yourself. That’s important okay. So who is it?"

She’s got the wrong end of the stick.

"No, Penny. I’m seeing someone that’s not there."

"You mean they’re emotionally unavailable?"

"No, I…in the flat."

She sighs, realising what I’m getting at and rolls her eyes.

"Oh, you mean like a hallucination?"

I nod, chewing my bottom lip.

"So who was it?"

Merlin, she’s going to think I’ve gone mental. Like it’s fifth year all over again. I swallow and take a deep breath.

"Baz."

"Baz?"

"Yeah, Baz fucking Pitch."

There’s a slight delay. She’s obviously thinking, or waiting for me to be reasonable.

"Simon. Do you think you could have been dreaming?"

"No. It’s… it’s happened more than once."

"Had you been drinking?"

"No! Penny! Unless you count tea."

"Then you _must_ have fallen asleep and been having a vivid dream."

"Siegfried and fucking Roy, Penny, I’m being serious. He’s been in the apartment. He says it’s all his stuff here. I don’t even know how he gets in, I had the chain on and everything."

My cheeks are hot and itchy. 

"Let’s look at this logically, Simon. If you’ve got locks on the door, how can he get in, even with a key?"

" ** _Open Sesame_**? **_Unchained Melody_**? I don’t bloody know."

"Look, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. It’s obvious that  _you_ think he’s there. It’s just.."

"I’m not mad, Penny."

"No, just tired and stressed. Go and stand on your balcony and look outside your apartment, Simon. There’s a whole world out there. It didn’t disappear just because two of your friends moved away. Come on Simon, it’s been two months since we left and you’ve not been anywhere."

"I’ve been a bit busy looking for somewhere to live, haven't I? And anyway, I can hardly go out in the evening with these can I?"

I let my wings unfurl behind me for dramatic effect.

"Let me call Gareth again, or Trixie even. They can do a **_nothing to see here_** , just for a few hours whilst you go out for a pint. It’ll do you good. Stop you whinging about Baz."

"I’ll think about it."

"Good. Now, you do still have the number for the magickal psychiatrist, don’t you? You avoided my question last time."

Great. She does think I’m losing it.

Maybe I am.

"Penny! I don't need to talk to her."

"Just think about it, Simon. Okay?"

****

I try to do what she says.

I throw myself into my work at Kew Gardens. The scent of the fresh earth as I dig it over, the feel of the soil between my fingers and the heaviness of the mud on my boots keep me firmly fixed in reality. I go shopping and buy fruit and I try to get enough sleep. I meet up with a few of the guys from work for a drink and I even fire a quick email off to the magickal psychiatrist, just to show willing.

There’s no sign of Baz; Penny was right, as usual. I was just stressed and over-tired.

And now it’s Saturday, a week after I moved in. I roll over in bed and check the time on my phone. I don’t have to do anything today. I wriggle down into the mattress and allow myself to appreciate the how extremely soft the sheets are against my cheek, compared to the ones I had on my bed in my old flat.

"Are you insane? What are you doing?"

Oh Merlin, not again.

"I’m going to have to call the police."

"I’m sleeping, it’s just a dream," I tell myself.

I screw my eyes shut and hide my head under the pillow, curling up into a foetal position. Maybe he’ll just go away.

"How do you keep getting in here?" He sounds pissed off.

"It’s you who’s in here," I say, pointing to my head.

"Crowley, this is more serious than I thought."

"Go away, you don’t exist."

"Says the man with wings... and a, what is that? Is that a devil's tail?" He smirks. "Now, I’m going to ask you a series of questions and I want you to answer honestly. Has your recent alcohol consumption increased?

If you include a few pints after work.

"Yeah, so?"

"Are you hearing voices, seeing things that aren’t quite real to you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," I glare at him, pointedly.

"Have you recently sought the counsel of a mental health professional?"

Has he been reading my emails? I wouldn’t put anything past the sneaky git.

"What? How do you know that?"

"Do you often feel paranoid? Feel people are out to get you?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

"I’ll take that as a yes." He sounds sadistically amused. "Listen to me. You have fantasised, quite convincingly, that you have rented an apartment that in fact belongs to someone else. Me. Take these sheets that you’re currently soiling, as an example. They’re Yves Delorme, I got them in Harrods, I still have the receipt, it’s in the drawer of the bureau. Go ahead, have a look."

"I.. uh.."

"I think you need to come to terms with the fact that you may be mentally ill."

"Really?"

I’m pretty certain he’s messing with me, but the more he talks, the more convincing he becomes.

"Yes. This is my apartment, those are my sheets, that’s my picture of…" He indicates the bedside table and for the first time, his air of superiority drops. He looks genuinely confused. "Where’s my picture? There was a picture there of.."

Haha! I seize on his moment of weakness.

"What do you mean? There was nothing there when I moved in."

"You know what? Forget it – I’ve had enough."

He reaches into the pocket inside his jacket to get his mobile phone. Or his wand, I’m not sure which.

"What have you done with it?" he demands.

"With what?"

"My wand, you idiot," he sneers.

And then he disappears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Do you know what I’m seeing? By Panic! At The Disco


	3. Misguided ghost

Once I’ve hauled myself out of bed, I call the letting agent to see if I can find out anything that might help me work out what’s going on.

"Hi, it’s Simon Snow. I’m renting the flat in Kew."

"Is something wrong?"

"No... I was just wondering about the previous tenant, do you know what happened to them?"

"I'm sorry, the gentleman I spoke to didn’t want to talk about it. Some family matter. He was very closed-mouthed. Some kind of family tragedy from what I can make out. They went through us to keep their anonymity. They didn’t want to know anything about who’s renting the flat, and I can’t give you any further details about them.”

"But do you think he might have died?"

"I wouldn’t like to say, but I suppose it’s possible. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?"

The line goes quiet, like she's waiting for me to say something else. 

"So is there anything else I can help you with?"

I try to tamp down the tension coiling up my legs, making my heel tap on the wooden floor. Use your words, Simon.

"Er... not really.  Well, that is, um... do you think you could let me have the landlord's name and number so that I can talk to them?"

"You do understand what anonymity means don’t you?"

"Yes, but…"

"Now listen, Mr Snow, I’m not sure if you realise, but you’ve got an extremely good deal at the moment. Do you know how many times over I could have filled that flat? And for much higher rent. Your personal recommendation and ability to move in straight away were in your favour, but don’t go making a nuisance of yourself by pestering the family, or I’m sure there will be no extension of the lease."

"Right, um… okay, thanks then."

I should probably ask more questions. Penny wouldn’t stop now. Baz would probably go round to the office demanding to know _everything_.

But instead I just end the call, sit on the balcony, pop my earbuds in and stare out over the park, letting the music wash over me. It’s good to be able to see so much green. I find it calming. Part of my therapy involved focusing on the good times at Watford, finding anchor memories. The grounds were the backdrop to so many of those – the welcome-back picnic, sitting under the shady trees watching football matches, helping Ebb with the goats, or even just walking aimlessly in the Wavering Woods. I think after so many years in city-based care homes I’ve just always craved that sense of open space. After Watford, I did try to persuade Penny to move to the countryside, or even better, the seaside. But she wanted to be near her family. And I needed to be near Penny.

My mind wanders back to the problem of what to do about Baz. Penny always used to say that my problems were her problems and we'd always talk things through. But that didn’t extend to Baz. She’d actually put a quota on how much I could talk about him during fifth year. Of course I never managed to stick to that, but I did have to be careful about letting on quite how much time I spent thinking about him.

It’s just that when you live with someone, it’s hard not to let them get under your skin. He was simply always there. Unless he was off plotting somewhere. In which case I had to spend even more time worrying about what he might be up to.  I could never just relax. 

And then suddenly he was out of my life.

I’d had no contact with him since the Christmas of our eighth year, after we’d defeated the Humdrum.

Living with Baz had been like living with a fridge that constantly buzzed - annoying, sometimes to the point of wanting to smash it, but in the end you got used to it. And when it’s not there anymore, you find you miss it so much it feels like a piece of you has been removed, and you can’t sleep without it, or stop wishing it was still there. Even though you hated it at the time. It was one of the things I’d ended up discussing at great length with the magickal psychiatrist. We didn’t always agree on the reasons why I found it so hard to move on, but after a few years, I’d pretty much got there. I'd learnt not to look for him in every dark haired guy I saw, or turn round, heart pounding when I heard a cruel, upper-class voice.  He was out of my life, and that was a good thing.  According to my counsellor. And Penny and Micah.  

Most days are good now. I think it’s why Penny felt it was the right time to leave. I mean, I might not have my magic anymore, but I’m alive. Plus watching the seasons change, particularly when life comes back to the gardens every spring, and knowing I’ve played a part in it, is the closest I’ve come to feeling that tingle of magickal energy in my fingertips.

So Baz Pitch turning up in my flat, making me feel shit about myself with just a few careless words and looking just as fucking perfect as ever?

Yeah, um… not good.

Merlin, I need to get out, before he appears again. I don’t go out on Saturdays as a rule, it means having to visit the Bunces again, and Penny’s mum always has a way of making me feel like I’m in the way.

"She doesn’t mean it, Simon." Penny’s told me many times. "And anyway, she doesn’t mind you half as much now she knows you’re not going to blow anything up."

Still, I try to avoid extra visits outside of the working week.

There’s a little second-hand bookshop just off Kew Green about ten minutes’ walk from my flat. I like to go in there when I’m feeling stressed. It’s the smell, I think. Reminds me of afternoons studying with Penny in the library at Watford (another positive anchor memory). Being right next to the botanical park, it’s got loads of old books on plants, some of which have these beautiful hand-painted plates inside. The owner, Hazel, reminds me of an older version Ebb, in that she has that same calm, slightly melancholy aura. She went to Watford years back, even before Baz’s mum became headmistress. She recognised the old scarf Penny was wearing when we came in together shortly after I started work at Kew, so she’s always been particularly kind to me, letting me treat it as more of a library than a shop.

The door is quite stiff and I half fall into the shop, knocking into a stack of books. The bell rings to announce my entrance, for anyone who might have missed my own attempt at stealth. Cringing, I re-stack the books and shuffle to the nearest set of shelves, trying to avoid the stares of the couple of middle-aged customers quietly browsing the travel section. I half expect Baz to appear, just so he can add to my pain.

"Can I help you with anything," Hazel asks, when, after about five minutes, it’s obvious I haven’t got a clue what I’m looking for.

I take my earbuds out, realising I've been staring at a shelf of self-help books, without registering a single title. 

"No. I mean, er… that is, do you believe in ghosts and stuff?"

"Certainly," she says, getting up from behind the desk and letting her glasses drop on their chain round her neck. "Haven’t you ever had a visiting when the veil lifts? I remember at Watford there was always great excitement around the autumnal equinox."

"Yeah, of course, I know. But I mean, like at other times?"

She looks at me, her watery blue eyes bright and alert in her wrinkled face.

"Some people believe you can communicate with the dead through a séance…" she starts, but I interrupt her. "Believe me, communicating is not a problem,"

"I see…" She pauses for a bit, closing her eyes.

I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and fiddle with the earbuds. She’s still got her eyes shut and is scratching her wrist absent-mindedly. I notice a large amber ring on her index finger and wonder if it’s magic, like Penny’s.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course," she says, almost to herself. "Right young man, I think I might have what you need. Come with me."

She leads me to a section towards the back of the shop and selects several books from the shelves, placing them in my arms and tapping on the top book.

"I think you might find some answers here. Bring them back next time you’re passing and let me know how you get on."

*****

Back at the flat I make a quick sandwich and sit on the sofa, books spread round me. It’s worryingly quiet. I try of focus on what I’m reading and not let my mind dwell too much on why Baz keeps appearing in the flat. Is he really a ghost? I hope not. Apart from a brief truce in our final year, we were enemies for the whole of our time at Watford. But that doesn’t mean I want him dead.

I wish Penny were here, she’d be able to **_fine tooth comb_** the books and help me find the answers more quickly. But that in itself is stupid. If she were here, we’d still be in our old flat and none of this would be happening. I consider calling her anyway, but I know she’ll just accuse me of getting obsessed.

I could just ask Baz outright, but he’s not here.

According to the book, I need to light some candles and say some incantation to get him to appear. I’m not sure if it’s actual magic - if it is I’m fucked. But as it's a book for Normals, I’m hoping it won’t need any special skills. I found some really expensive looking boxed candles in the kitchen cupboard when I was looking for a cheese grater earlier. I guess if you’re trying to attract someone as posh as Baz, you’d need fancy candles. I set the jars out on the coffee table and let them burn for a while, their woody, citrus smell taking me back to our room at the top of Mummers House. How could I have forgotten this? I close my eyes and breathe it in.

Merlin, I’ve missed that smell. 

"Do you know how much those candles cost?"

He never did like me touching his stuff.

I didn’t even have to do the stupid bloody incantation.

"We need to talk," I say, opening my eyes.

"About what?"

He looks suspicious.

"Um… have you noticed anything strange about the way you’ve been spending your days?"

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Actually, yes. It is a little weird having a squatter in your living room."

"I am not…" I take a deep breath and stand up. "Okay, let’s start over. Hi. I’m Simon. Simon Snow," I say, holding out my hand. "And you are?"

He stares at my outstretched hand, but doesn’t go to take it.

"You know bloody well my name’s Baz," he says with a sneer.

"Yes, but I don’t think you did know that – you’ve just heard me calling you it."

"Crowley, Snow. I think I know my own name."

However infuriating he is, it’s good to hear him using my name again.

Even though he doesn’t show any signs of recognising who I am.

"Okay, but what’s the rest of your name?"

"I don’t have to tell you anything."

He’s trying to do the bored look, but I know him well enough to see the tension in his chin.

"Alright then, when is the last time you remember talking to someone other than me?"

"The other day."

"And when you’re not here, what do you do with the rest of your day?"

He narrows his eyes at me and curls his mouth into a cruel sneer.

"Certainly something better paid than you do, judging by the state of your clothes and fingernails."

I’m not going to let him get to me.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Tyrannus."

I move towards him, slowly, calmly, like I’m stepping close to an animal.

"My name is Baz," he says, stepping backwards slightly in response.

"You think. So... let me ask you. Has anything dramatic happened to you recently?"

"What do you mean?"

Fuck, I’m going to have to just come out with it.

"Um.. I dunno. Like… dying maybe?"

"Don’t be so ridiculous," he spits.

"Can you remember what happened to you before you …"

"I am not dead!"

"Look around you. There should be a bright light nearby."

"Don’t be an idiot, Snow. There’s no light."

"Walk into the light Baz,"

"There’s no light. I am not dead. Crowley, Snow, I think I’d know if I were."

He stops moving when he realises I’m staring at him. He’s standing in the table. Not on the table, but in it. Like right in the middle. Like he would if he were a ghost. I don’t think I’d seriously believed it before now. I was just trying to wind him up with all that ‘walk into the light’ business. I still thought he was somehow messing with me.

He looks down at where his legs should be, then back up at me.  It's as if, just for a moment, he thinks I _might_ actually have the answers.

"What’s happening to me?"

"I... I... don't know.  Merlin, I think you really are dead, Baz."

He squeezes his fists tight, and his voice comes out of him in a tight roar.

"Stop. Saying. That"

"Does it hurt?"

"What? Don’t be stupid."

He moves away from the table and starts prowling about the room.

"What have you done to me, Snow?"

Me? Now I'm really pissed off. How does he always twist things?  Make me feel like somehow I'm responsible for all this shit.

"It’s _not_ my fault your dead, Baz. Seriously, I just want you out of my flat and my life.  Now just sod off."

He stops pacing and charges towards me, nostrils flaring, his hands reaching for my neck.

"I’m done with you," he shouts.

I find myself shouting, "Anathema!" out of habit, putting my hands up to catch his wrists, but he passes straight through me and falls out through the window.

 

"Rest in peace, Baz," I say, leaning my forehead on the cool glass.

Glad that I won’t ever have to see his stupidly perfect face again.

Or watch his lips curl as he says my name, like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Just glad that it's over.

But if that’s true, then why does it feel like I’ve got a nest of snakes in my chest?

I close my eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

　

"No. I’m not leaving."

I turn around and Baz is just standing there, arms folded.

My mouth falls open.

"What’s wrong, Snow? Cat got your tongue?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Misguided Ghosts - Paramore
> 
> Thank you for your kudos and comments - they really make my day and make up for the hours sitting up against my totally ineffective radiator, with my laptop in my big socks and bobble hat whilst being hassled by my cat.
> 
> I'm back at school now, so work will be piling up, but I'll try to update at the weekend if I can...


	4. Waiting room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a crazy week back at school, but I love these guys and wanted to update if possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Baz is talking to Simon in front of other people, but they can’t hear him, his speech is in italics

There’s no magic in his voice when he says it. Actually, I’m not sure he’s capable of it in his current state, but I still flinch, remembering when he used it on me in third year.

I scowl at him before slumping down on the sofa and staring at the stupid expensive candles that are still filling the house with the smell of our Watford bedroom. I refuse to let him get under my skin the way he did at school. For fuck’s sake, we’re not kids anymore. But it’s all but impossible to take my mind of the perfect git lurking over by the window. The nest of snakes in my chest seems to have disappeared, only to be replaced with the rising heat of indignation. My cheeks flush and I feel like I could go off, although I know that’s impossible since I lost my magic. I try to find an anchor, as the psychiatrist taught me, to bring me back from the anger churning inside. Watching the pool of wax grow around the candle wicks as they flicker in their black jars, I remember the way he used to make little flames dance in the palm of his hand.

It was always fire with Baz.

He clears his throat and I look up, despite my determination to ignore him. He lifts his chin to emphasise how much he looks down on me.

"Romantic as this is," he says dryly, "I didn’t quite picture this little scenario when I bought those Jo Malone candles, so I’d appreciate it if you would blow them out now."

In your dreams, Pitch. They won’t come to any harm even if I let them burn all night. Serve him right, posh twat.

"Do it yourself," I spit. "I’m going to bed."

I stalk out of the room, trying not to look like I give two fucks.

　

***

I don’t get a moment’s peace all day Sunday.

I get out of the shower, he’s sitting on the toilet seat, legs crossed with a smirk on his face.

I open the fridge to get the butter and he’s there.

"Scones for breakfast, Snow? Do you honestly even care about your arteries?"

I slam the door in his face.

He’s there when I flip on Netflix, commenting on every single thing that I scroll over as I try to decide what to watch.

"Crowley, Snow. Surely even your taste isn’t that bad?" he sneers as I hover over the new season of Teen Wolf.

I hadn’t really been considering it in all seriousness, but seeing how much it annoyed him, I put it on.

As the opening credits roll he starts reciting nursery rhymes in a bored voice.

"Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children are gone…"

I’m not sure if he’s trying to cast a spell, or just be annoying, but anyway his magic definitely isn’t working.

I shoot him a smug look and turn the TV up.

Later on that evening, I sit at the dining table and try to get on with some designs for an area of the garden I’ve been working on. I’m so busy waiting for him to make some snarky comment that I can’t focus. I’ve been reworking the colour on one of the borders for over half an hour when I look up and realise he’s just watching me. It’s the quietest he’s been all day.

"What?" I say, defensively.

"I’m just wondering how fingers that thick and clumsy-looking could create something so…"

He shakes his head, like it’s all too much for him and walks over to the window.

I put on some music and try to refocus on what I’m supposed to be doing.

"You’re really listening to this?"

Right. I’ve had enough. He’s got to go.

　

***

　

"That’s it – you just sit there?"

Hazel has been sitting on the sofa, her eyes closed, for the past ten minutes, whilst I’ve been hovering awkwardly in the kitchen area and Baz has been leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded. I’d popped in to the shop during my lunch break, to drop the books back, and she’d offered to come over after closing time, to see if she could detect anything.

"Do you want bells and whistles or an actual reading?" she says. "Now stay quiet."

" _She can’t see me, Snow,"_ Baz says, like I’m completely stupid for even contemplating this. " _For some hideous reason, only you can._ "

Hazel finally draws in a deep breath and opens her eyes.

"Okay, there’s something, definitely a presence."

" _How original. Tell me more_ ," Baz drawls, unimpressed.

"It’s quite hostile. It wants you out of here."

He quirks an eyebrow.

" _Actually, she’s not bad_."

Hazel stands slowly and looks at me, a solemn expression on her face.

"Listen to me, Simon, I think you should seriously consider moving out."

I’m stunned.

"I should move out? Why should _I_ go? I have every right to be here."

"I know, but I’m just getting a very strong negative vibe from whatever entity is here. And I get the impression that there’s more going on here than you’re willing to deal with right now."

" _I like her_ ," Baz smirks. " _She’s smart. You should pay heed to her advice."_

"No, I’m not going to move."

I lean on the kitchen worktop and fold my arms, my tail, although invisible is lashing wildly.

"Can’t you feel that?" She says. "This room is charged with enough negative energy to bring a dragon to its knees. It’s not healthy, Simon."

" _This mage’s got a gift, I’d listen to her if I were you_ ," he grins. " _It’s not like you’ve got much to pack up is it?_ "

He’s fucking loving this.

"I’m not moving."

Baz rolls his eyes.

Hazel places a hand on my arm.

"Do you think I might have a cup of tea, Simon?" she asks. "I don’t know why, but this sort of thing always leaves me parched."

" _Yes, make the good lady a drink, Simon. Where are your manners_?"

I flip the kettle on and get the teabags from the cupboard, slamming the door shut.

" _Tut-tut. Temper, temper, Snow_."

I choose to ignore him, gritting my teeth.

"Move out. Is that the only advice you can offer?" I say as I hand her her tea. "Could you please talk to him, tell him to move on…?"

" _Could you please talk to him…"_ Baz mimics.

"I’m ignoring you." I say to him.

" _I don’t want you here either, Snow. Believe me, the feeling’s mutual_."

"Wait, what’s going on?" Hazel asks.

"He won’t accept that he’s dead," I say, turning back to Hazel. "I told him to walk to the light, but he wouldn’t do it."

Baz scoffs.

" _That’s because there is no light, Crowley you’re infuriating_."

I glare at him.

She's tilting her head like she’s trying to listen.

"He’s just… urgh!" I tear my fingers through my hair.

Baz’s eyes are blazing and he comes right up in my face.

" _Do you think I like this? Do you? Do you think this is easy for me? I know something is different, something’s not right. I’m walking through walls for snakes’ sake_."

We stand there, glowering at each other, tension crackling almost palpably.

"Okay, you know what," Hazel says, looking almost pained. "I don’t think I can help you. This is one of the most alive spirits I’ve been around. He’s not going anywhere."

I rip my gaze away from Baz’s face.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I agree with him, Simon. He’s not dead."

Baz smirks.

Merlin I wish I still had the Sword of Mages; I’d slice him in two. Right then and there.

"But you," she looks at me over the top of her glasses, "you’ve got to deal with this… I’m not exactly sure what it is. It’s like there’s some emotional blockage. It has very strong shield charms round it, I can’t see what it’s hiding. But it’s creating a very dark aura around you and sucking the life right out of you. You need to deal with it…" She screws her eyes up, like she’s listening intently. "You’ve got to deal with him…"

"How can I when he won’t leave?" I shout.

"Not your spirit chap. I’m talking about the other him. The one from your past, someone you’re keeping so tightly hidden in here," she presses over my heart with tips of her bony fingers. "That’s what’s really haunting you."

She nods to herself, like she’s worked something out.

"I don’t want to talk about that."

Baz looks delighted, crossing the kitchen in quick strides.

" _Oh I get it, you were dumped, probably for some guy who has better sartorial elegance and doesn’t have a sofa glued to his arse, or a tail come to that…"_

He’s practically cackling.

"Shut up," I growl.

" _What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it? You bring in Professor Trelawney here and try to do some kind of exorcism, evict me from my own flat, go around telling me I’m dead, but I just talk about you getting dumped, just once and…"_

"You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

I can’t breathe. The blood rushing in my ears is the roaring of a forest fire. I’m not sure what just happened in there, or what exactly Hazel was getting at, but I sure as hell don’t want to be in the same room as Baz right now. I storm out onto the balcony, but not before I hear her say to the kitchen, "A word of advice, young man. Don’t open old wounds unless you are prepared for the consequences."

I lean over the railing.

I think I might be sick.

What is she talking about? What’s hidden in me? I thought I was past all this.

***

"Simon?"

He bothered to call me Simon, that’s pretty much an apology in my eyes. I turn round and he’s standing in the doorway balcony, fiddling with the button on his cuff.

"It occurred to me just now that I probably don’t know you all that well," he says.

Yeah, well I know you, Baz Pitch.

I don’t say anything. He moves to stand next to me, staring out into the darkness of the park.

"I got this place because of its vast balcony, you know. I love being able to see the park and I was going to do a whole garden up here, eventually…I think," he says, frowning. "So… um.. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you know most people find it helpful to talk about things."

"Well, I don’t want to talk about it," I growl.

"Anger's another way of dealing with it, I suppose."

We’re quiet for a moment.

"So who was she talking about?"

Truthfully I have no idea what she was on about. It could be the Mage or the Humdrum, I suppose, but I’ve a feeling she meant something else.

"I don’t know," I say.

"Fine, Snow. You don’t have to tell me anything. I don’t really want to know about your pitiful life anyway."

And we're back to normal again. So much for the almost apology.

"You’re such an _arse_ , Baz."

I’ve got to get out of here.

I text Gareth and agree to meet up with him and Rhys at a bar across town. He meets me outside and quickly spells my wings for me, before I follow him inside. Typical Gareth, I think as I look round the bar. Not that I mind, I’m not exactly the straightest guy in London. Plus I wouldn’t care even if I were. I just want to get pissed and forget.

" _Really, Snow. That’s your plan? Get drunk and pull a random bloke? Trust me, it’s not going to help._ "

What the fuck? He’s following me out of the flat now? Is there no escape from the git? (And who said anything about pulling anyone?)

"Oh really? When was the last time you we in a gay bar?" I hiss under my breath.

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

" _Well I am gay, Snow, so pretty recently actually_."

"You’re…?"

Before I can get my head round this new piece of information, Gareth reaches his group of friends and turns round to introduce me.

"Hey guys, so this is Simon. Simon, Cam, Charlie, Gracie and Molly."

I nod at them, "Er… nice to meet you."

"All right, Simon?" Rhys says. "What you drinking?"

" _Coffee,"_ Baz says.

"A shot, of anything you guys are on."

" _Don’t be stupid, Simon_."

I clench my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. 

"Make it a double."

" _You know you don’t have to wait. I can start your hangover right now."_

Baz tries to put his hand into my head, like he’s mixing up my brain and I dodge it, looking like I’m doing some weird dance to the music that’s blaring loudly in the bar.

"Yeah. Whoo! Yeah," Gareth laughs, awkwardly. "Excited to be out on a school night are we?"

" _You can’t drink those feelings away, Snow_."

"Bite me."

Gareth’s smile falters slightly. "So ….You okay?"

" _Say goodbye, tell him that you made a mistake and that you need to go and get a curry and go home. I don’t want you getting pissed and then puking all over my apartment."_

"Who made you my keeper?" I say over my shoulder at him.

"Uh…?" Gareth laughs nervously, looking to see who I'm talking to. "So…. Not being funny but Penny did mention that you’d been having a bit of a rough time recently. You sure you’re okay, bud?”

Bloody Penny.

"I’m fine, it’s nothing."

" _Simon..._."

"Just a lack of sleep, I think, and lots going on at work."

"Sleep? Aren’t you sleeping well in that great big bed? Is it all the paintings?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively; he thinks he’s being cheeky, daft twat.

I reach for my drink. Something revolting–looking that Rhys has decided on.

" _Don’t you dare!"_

I look at him.

_"Don’t!"_

I lift the glass to my lips.

 _"Last chance_ …"

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

Gareth looks confused. Don’t blame him.

Baz looks furious and then he suddenly lunges at me. I feel cold all over for pretty much the first time in my life. My skin tingles like it used to when my magic rose to the surface, but this is cold where mine used to feel hot. Somehow Baz has taken control of my body and I fight him for control as he tries to force me to put the drink back down on the bar. No. This is my choice, I want the drink. I grab my own wrist and wrestle with it. I end up throwing it over Rhys, who can’t move out of the way quickly enough. What a bloody disaster. I look like an absolute freak.

"What the…?" Rhys gasps.

"Simon?" Gareth is just staring at me.

"I um… I mean… Sorry!" I bluster.

I end up outside the bar and only then does Baz deign to vacate my body.

"Ugh!" he says, shooting his cuffs and smoothing back his hair.

"What the fuck, Baz! Ever heard of consent?"

"You’re going to thank me for that tomorrow morning," he says coldly. "And believe me, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant experience of my life. If there’d been another way…"

"For what? For making me look like a lunatic in front of my friends?"

I march off and don’t look back. How many times do I have to walk away before I’m finally rid of him? I end up sitting on a bench in the park watching an empty Starbucks cup roll along in the wind. Of all the flats in the whole of west London, how did I end up in the one haunted by my nemesis? It’s like the universe is playing a sick joke on me. I think of texting Penny for about the millionth time this week, but I know what she’ll say.

After a while, I’m aware I am no longer alone on the bench. I don’t even look, I know it’ll be him.

"Merlin, Baz. Why are you still here?" I sigh, suddenly exhausted.

"I have no idea, Snow." His voice is uncharacteristically soft. "Why are you the only one who can see me?"

"Don’t ask me."

"All I know is when I’m not with you, it’s like I don’t… exist. Crowley, maybe I am dead."

I make the mistake of looking at him now; his eyes are pools of grey and black and pain. There’s a tightening in my stomach, this feels so familiar.

I shake it off and try to sound light-hearted.

"Come on, Baz. I’m sorry that I said you were dead. I don’t think you’d be able to leave the flat if you were."

"If I could just remember something about who I am or was. I mean then I’d know once and for all," he sighs and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so defeated. "I’m trying to figure it out. I… I just can’t do it by myself."

"You’re not asking for my help are you?" I huff.

"Look, the way I see it, you have two realities to choose from. The first one being that a handsome young man has come into your life, albeit in a very unconventional way, and he happens to need your assistance."

"Right...?"It comes out as a question.

"The second one is that you are an insane person and you’re sitting on a park bench talking to yourself."

"I think I prefer the first one."

He almost smiles.

"Alright then, Snow. Let’s try to find out who I am."

"Merlin, Baz. I know who you are. That’s half the problem."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waiting room by Grace Carter  
> "There's a ghost in my home and it just won't go  
> And it plays with my mind when I'm on my own"
> 
>  
> 
> Also, thank you for your kudos and comments, they always make my day <3


	5. Signs of a lifetime

Last night, when it was clear that I'd be able to fill in some of the blanks in his memory, he'd looked so relieved. I haven’t told him much yet; only that we were roommates at Watford for eight years and that we'd avenged his mother's death and defeated the Humdrum together.  He'd been impressed, especially when I told him that that was how I'd lost my magic and got stuck with my wings and tail.  He wanted to know more about the things we'd got up to over the years, but I'd said I was tired and that we could talk properly after work today.

I’m stalling because if I’ve got to live with him again, albeit a slightly unusual arrangement, I don’t know how much I want to tell him. About us being enemies, about him trying to kill me on several occasions, about us only working together because we were on a truce. I don’t want to re-stoke the fire by letting him know that weren’t exactly close. As for who he is now, well there really isn’t anything I can tell him. I haven’t seen him or any of his crowd for nearly eight years. Does he still want to kill me? I hope not. Surely if he’d been plotting all this time he’d have done something by now.

It’s almost a comforting thought.

I did promise to help him find out what happened to him though, so when I woke up this morning it was no surprise to find him perched on the end of the bed.

"You didn’t drink in the end last night, so I’m not going to let you pretend that you forgot your promise to help me discover who I am," he says, inspecting his nails.

"I wasn’t planning on backing out Baz. You really don’t know me, do you?"

"Hmm. Well, we’re starting today. It’s our first priority."

He moves to stand by the window. The sun’s out, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

"What about work?" I ask.

"Of course you can go to work."

"Good, because I like my job. It’s the one thing I’m good at…"

I can feel my hackles rising already. I’m not getting pushed around by a half-dead ghost.

"Snow, I’m not going to stop you going to work," he sighs.

I feel like I’m already trying his patience. But I can’t help it. I know he’s probably changed, and I know my psychiatrist would tell me that I’m displaying learnt behaviour; I’m reacting to him like I did as a teenager. But it’s the only way I know how to be with Baz.

"Although if you wanted to take a few days off I wouldn’t be adverse to the idea."

"I’m not wasting my holiday on you, Baz." I scowl.

"Fine. I’ll see you when you get home. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go."

"Yeah, well don’t spend too much time brooding. Or plotting. You shoved me down the stairs when we were at school and I don’t fancy a repeat."

"I did what?" He lets out a snorty sort of laugh. "Crowley, you must have been even more irritating then than you are now." His eyes narrow and I can’t tell, but I think he’s being playful. That’s new. "But don’t worry, I couldn’t push you down the stairs right now, however tempting that may be."

"You managed to get me out of the bar last night," I say.

He shakes his head like I’m mad.

"I’m serious," I say. "I’m not going to help you if I have to worry that you’re setting me up all the time."

I regret it as soon as the words are out of my mouth, as all hint of humour leaves his face.

"Do you think that this is a set up? That I died and came back from the dead just to fuck with you?"

I wouldn’t put it past him, the old Baz that is.

"No," I say, aware that my voice is a little sulky.

"Were you this whiny at school? It’s a wonder I didn’t push you down the stairs on more than one occasion if I had to share a room with you for eight years." He pauses before saying, "Look here, you dolt. I don’t know what exactly went on between us and I daresay it will all become clearer over time, but we’re adults now, and in all honesty, this would be much easier if we weren’t at each other’s throats all the time."

"Are you suggesting a truce," I say. "Like in eighth year?"

His lip curls, like he finds me amusing.

"I can’t remember, but if in eighth year truce meant not trying to piss each other off just for the fun of it, then yes. Just like in eighth year."

I guess it’s a start.

***

When I get back to the flat, Baz is already there. Or maybe he’d never left. I only have a passing thought that it might be a trap, but decide to take him at his word, that he’s grown out of all that.

"Do you want to get started?" I say, unrolling one of the large sheets of paper that I use for my garden designs. "I don’t have a whiteboard, but we can use this."

"No. You need to make yourself some food first. I know you won’t be able to function otherwise."

My stomach rumbles in response.

"I thought you didn’t remember me from school?"

"I don’t. This is based purely on observations since you’ve been occupying my apartment. I don’t know how you stay so fit the amount of carbohydrate and butter you seem to consume, but it seems to be an important part of your being, so go ahead. I can wait a few more minutes."

"Thanks."

"Don’t thank me. I just don’t want your mind drifting off to the kitchen when we’re trying to focus."

I rummage in the fridge and come back a few minutes later with a plate loaded with half a pork pie, a chunk of cheese, an apple, a couple of large slabs of bread and butter and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

Baz rolls his eyes. "Crowley Snow, could you fit any more on there?"

But there’s no bite in his words for once. It’s nice.

"Right." I say, wiping my hands on my trackies to get rid of the crisp crumbs. "Let’s start with what we know. That’s where Penelope always starts."

"Who’s Penelope?"

"Penelope Bunce. She was my best friend at Watford. I think you called us Ant and Dec once ‘cause we were always together."

"What? You mean you weren’t best friends with your dashingly good-looking and highly intelligent roommate?"

"I er…um… that is to say…"

"I’m kidding, Snow. It’s becoming clear that we weren’t exactly bosom buddies."

But if I didn’t know better I’d say he looked slightly hurt.

"So why don’t we call this Bunce, get her to come over and help us?"

"She um... she lives in Chicago now, so it might be a bit far for her to come."

God, I can only imagine the glare I would get if I Skyped her now and tried to convince her that I was sitting here with Baz.

"Okay, so the crucible cast us together for a reason, Snow. We can do this."

I spread the paper out on the table and pick up one of the markers, suddenly aware of how scathing Baz used to be of my handwriting. I lick my lips and look up at him.

"So… um, as I said, we need to think about what we do know, and then work from there."

"Astounding, Snow. Right then, so what do we know?"

We make a list. I do my best to write in neat block capitals and to be fair, Baz only asks a couple of times what the hell I’ve written. At one point, he grabs my phone and changes my ‘terrible taste in music,’ for some poncey classical stuff. "It’s Bach’s violin sonatas," he says, when I complain, "It helps me think more cleanly." I wonder if he remembers he plays. 

"Right," I say, reading the list when we're done. "Number one: We were roommates at Watford, but we haven’t seen each other since. Two: You’re pretty sure you still have slash had your magic, even though you can’t seem to use it right now. Three: You think you own this stupidly posh flat, but you’re not sure how long you’ve lived here. Four: You must either have a very good job, or you’ve inherited some money to be able to afford it. Five: I’m hardly paying any rent, so… well, we’re not sure what that means. Six: Your family are being very secretive and won’t speak to me, so that’s a dead end. And seven: Googling ‘Baz Pitch’ or similar doesn’t do any good, as the magickal community never show up online."

I tear my fingers through my hair. "It’s not much to go on, is it?"

Baz has been pacing, whilst I read the list.  He stops now and looks straight at me.

"What about asking the neighbours? Someone’s got to have noticed me coming and going?"

"That's not a bad idea."

"It's my idea, so of course it isn't."

I choose to ignore the smirk. 

"Well, I haven’t seen anyone else since I moved in, but there are cars in the carpark in the evening, so there must be other people living here."

"Come on then, Snow, we’ll start on the ground floor and work our way up. I think it’s time to you introduced yourself to your neighbours."

***

"I’m terribly sorry, I can’t help you I’m afraid. I always assumed that apartment was empty…" the old gentleman from Flat One says, scratching his snowy hair. He looks and sounds like a retired army officer, tweed jacket and everything.

We try the next flat. A well-groomed woman in her late thirties answers. "There was someone living there?" She raises her eyebrows in surprise, hand on her hip. "I never saw anyone, he must’ve kept long hours…"

There’s no answer at Flat Three. Baz’s place is Flat Four, so we head upstairs.

I have to double-take when the door opens. Someone who could be Agatha’s even hotter sister answers the door in her workout gear, all long blonde hair and perfect figure. I feel my cheeks flush, remembering how that ended.

"Hi… I’m Simon, I just moved in…" I manage.

"Hi Simon," she says, her American accent obvious after the upper-middle class accents of the previous tenants. "I’m Katrina… d’you wanna come in?"

I quickly flash Baz a look. He just gives me that ‘get on with it’ head movement.

"That’s um… really er… hospitable of you, but I just wanted to ask you something."

She shifts her weight onto one hip and starts to twirl her long blonde hair with her finger. I swallow dryly.

"So, umm… well, the flat downstairs that I’m renting, it belonged to a guy, do you remember him at all?"

She looks slightly confused, then puts her head to one side and twists her mouth, like she’s thinking really hard.

"Yeah, I think there was somebody down there. But he was like, totally anti-social. Kind of like a cat lady, but, like, a guy and without any cats, as far as I know.  I never actually saw him," she laughs.

Baz looks pissed off. " _Okay, I think we’re done here_."

I stare at her, not quite sure what to say next.  She seems oblivious to my discomfort and carries on, like we've been friends for years. "Look so this is so cliché, but I’ve got a window I can’t get open, do you think you might be able to have a look at it?"

" _Like hell she does._ "

"What?" I hiss

"What?" She says.

" _She wants you to come in and I don’t think it’s her window she wants you to have a look at."_

"Sorry, um, well if it’s painted shut and you use a screwdriver to jam it, it sometimes, um…"

"Oh yeah, I tried that. It won’t budge."

She shrugs apologetically.

" _We don’t have time for you to play the hero right now, Snow_. _Make some excuse_."

Damn you Baz, it's been a while since I got hit on by anyone.

"I’d like to help, but I have dinner plans," I say.

"Well I got desert," she all but purrs.

Not quite like Agatha then. Agatha was beautiful and graceful, but we didn't exactly have chemistry.  She certainly never looked at me the way Katrina is now, like she'd gladly have _me_ for desert. It’s mildly terrifying. But Baz’s reaction makes it worth it.

 _"How unbelievably crass,"_ he hisses, before rolling his eyes dramatically and storming off.

"Well, okay, I…. um nice to meet you."

I shake her hand.

"Totally, you too, Simon,” she says, leaning on the doorframe.  "Maybe another time then, yeah? You know where I am."

She gives me a little wave before closing the door.

　

"Does that predatory approach work on anyone?"

"It’d work on me, if I wasn’t being haunted by someone who would comment on my every move."

"Well you obviously have no taste. Or maybe you just haven't had any for a while."

That's a bit to close to the truth, but I don't let on.

"I mean, even if I weren’t gay, she had absolutely no class.  Seriously, who wears work out gear for leisure wear anyway?."

"You’re such a snob, Baz. And anyway, if you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly _Father’s Club_ material myself am I?"

"I could hardly fail to notice, Snow. Apart from your work clothes, do you actually own anything other than tracksuits, trainers and hoodies? You’d think living with me for eight years would have rubbed off on you slightly."

In my agitation over the Katrina incident, I realise I’ve forgotten to knock on Flat Six. We’re now standing outside our flat again and I'm rummaging in my pockets.

"Damn it, I locked my key inside," I sigh.

"There’s a spare one under the fire extinguisher," he says absent-mindedly.

I retrieve it and let us into the flat.

"I guess she’s sexy if you’re into the whole blonde and toned thing," he concedes.

"There's not many guys who wouldn't be," I huff.  "She reminds me a bit of Agatha."

His head snaps up. "Who the fuck's Agatha?"

"Oh she was my girlfriend for our last few years at Watford," I say smugly.

That seems to shut him up. It’s pretty useful that he can’t remember anything, so he won’t recall how off and on our relationship was. Or that she dumped me in the end and ran off to California without even saying goodbye.

I wander into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Baz is staring at the list on the dining table, brooding. I'm not sure what he's thinking.

I make a mug of tea and bring it through, kicking my trainers off before slumping onto the sofa. I look for the TV remote, but it’s not on the coffee table.

"So that’s it? You’re giving up?" He says, turning from the list and frowning at me.

"Look there are five other flats in this block, and not one person remembers what you look like. Talk about being disconnected from people."

I shove my hand down the side of the sofa cushions. The remote’s not there, but I can feel something else. I wiggle my fingers and just manage to grasp it.

"Hey, Baz, look at this…"

"What? What is it?"

He’s over next to me in a second.

"It’s a book of matches and a dry cleaning ticket, I say, holding them out so that he can see.

"You know what that means?" He sounds excited.

"We could start a very small fire?"

He rolls his eyes.

"No, Snow. It’s a clue. And it means there’s still hope."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Don't Delete the Kisses" by Wolf Alice


	6. Between two lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a doctor. The medical advice is from the film. Please don't try this at home!

We agree to go to the drycleaner’s on my lunchbreak. It’s just round the corner from the flat, so I swing by and pick up Baz first. The shop is quite small, tucked in between a Thai place and a private dental practice, but it’s obviously the sort of place Baz would use over some high street chain.

We’re helped by a guy in his early twenties; Alex according to the name on his badge.

"Mr Pitch, one times grey suit.  Oh yes, I remember that was a lovely suit," he says, looking at the ticket stub. "Deepest charcoal grey, Armani or something like that."

" _Yes, I know the one he means."_

He looks amazed at himself for being able to recall the suit. 

" _It was Armani, and very expensive._ _Ask him if he can remember me."_

"Do you remember anything about the guy who brought it in?"

"Mr Pitch? Of course.  He's not easy to forget. Working here's not exactly the most stimulating job in the world, so I make a point of trying to get to know my customers, especially certain ones," he flashes a grin at me. "He used to be in quite a lot. Tall, well-dressed, maybe a few years older than me and intimidatingly good-looking?"

"Yeah, that’s him."

Baz smirks.

"A little cold though," he adds.

"Cold?" Baz and I say at the same time.

"Yeah. I mean, he was always polite and well-spoken and that, but not one for small talk. When I think of him, I think of loneliness. He didn’t seem the type to let people in. No wedding band, or photos in his wallet when he got his card out to pay. Believe me, I notice these things."

The smirk's definitely been wiped from Baz’s face.

" _I don’t need a psychological profile from this moron. Why would I feel the need to let my drycleaner ‘in’? Just because I don’t smile at everyone, like some people, doesn’t mean I’m cold. Can we just get the suit?"_

"Would it be okay to pick up the suit?" I ask. "He’s a friend of mine and he’s going to be away for a while longer. He asked me to collect it."

Alex looks surprised, like he can’t imagine the cool, good-looking owner of the suit being friends with someone like me. My work uniform of a navy blue polo shirt and black combats were clean on this morning, but that was hours ago.

"I’m sorry," he shrugs apologetically. "When items are left too long, we give them to the charity shop over the road. I don’t expect it’s still there, but you could try."

 _"You gave it away? Are you mad? It was Armani for snakes’ sake_!"

"Okay, well thanks for your time," I say, holding the door open.

Baz is just standing there, like he actually cannot believe his ears. Like if he stares at him hard enough, he might change his mind and remember that the suit is just out the back.

"Are you coming or what?" I whisper to Baz. "It’s a suit, what do you need it for anyway? Let’s go."

I ignore the strange look Alex gives me as I usher Baz out of the shop. It’s not like I’m ever going to have to see him again.

As we walk along the parade of shops, Baz is muttering to himself, like he’s still trying to piece together a puzzle.

"Okay, so I’m a good-looking, but cold and detached guy, who probably works long hours."

"Have we learnt anything we didn’t already know then?" I laugh. "You were the same at school."

"Fantastic, Snow. Thanks for the insight."

It seems like he might be sulking slightly, but then his mouth always did look rather like he was pouting. I check my phone; my lunchbreak is nearly over. No more Baz until this evening. I’m almost disappointed, I’m beginning to get used to having him around.

"Look," I say, "I have to get back to work. I um, suppose you can come if you like? I mean, as long as you don’t start telling me how to do my job. Or moaning that you’re bored, or…"

"Okay, I’ll come," he interrupts my list of conditions.

I’m stupidly pleased.

"Really? I mean I’m just on digging over the beds in the kitchen gardens today…"

"Well considering you asked me so nicely, and made it seem so exciting, how could I refuse? It’s hardly like I’ve got anything better to do is it?"

He tries to seem bored, but I get the impression he’s secretly pleased not to be alone. Or nowhere. Or whatever it is when he’s not with me.

We’re almost back at work, when Baz stops outside a little Bistro. It looks like something out of a 1950s film. It’s painted that typical Parisian café red, with a few tables outside. There are those little half curtains on the window and the menu on the board by the door is all in French.

"What is it? Do you recognise something?" I ask. "Do you want to go in?"

"I’m not sure."

He seems hesitant, but I walk in through the open door, trying not to feel overly self-conscious in my work uniform. It feels cosy and intimate inside after the brightness of the April sunshine and I blink, trying to adjust my eyes. It seems to be very popular; pretty much every red and white checked table is full, with couples and small groups enjoying delicious-looking food and wine. My stomach rumbles. I didn’t have time to eat my sandwiches thanks to our trip to the drycleaner’s.

"This is "Le Petit Bistrot," Baz says in an awed voice. "I love this restaurant."

"Do you eat here a lot?"

I didn’t think he liked to eat in public, but I can imagine him sitting in a corner, swilling a decent claret round in an oversized wineglass.

"No."

"No?"

"No, but I remember looking in the window and wishing I could. It always seemed so friendly and welcoming."

"I can’t imagine you not getting something you want? Why didn’t you?"

"I just never got round to it. Huh. Maybe Alex at the drycleaner’s wasn’t such a moron, maybe he was right about me, maybe I _was_ a sad, lonely git."

He looks wistful. Older Baz’s face is certainly more expressive than teenage Baz. I swear he only showed about two emotions back then. Or maybe I’ve just got better at reading people now that I’m not so worried about saving the world of mages.

The Maître d’ has spotted us and is making his way over.

"Good afternoon, Sir, may I help you?"

Sir? Of course, he can only see _me_.

_"Come on, Snow, let’s go."_

"Er… no, thank you, I was just looking for someone I thought might be in here."

I turn to leave, when suddenly there is an almighty crash from near the kitchens. One of the waiters has fallen to the floor.

"Dan!" someone shouts.

The Maître d’ rushes over to the stricken waiter, calling to the guy behind the bar, "Jamie, call 999, we need an ambulance. Dan, are you okay?"

Chairs scrape as people stand to see what’s going on. A small crowd has already started to gather and there are voices coming from all directions.

"Undo his collar."

"Is he breathing?"

"I can’t tell," the Maître d’ says, sounding flustered.

"Someone should do mouth to mouth."

"We need a doctor."

"Is there a doctor here? Anyone?"

Baz suddenly seems to snap out of his funk his eyes are wide with amazement.

_"Feel his chest."_

"What?"

_"His chest, check to see if it’s bloated."_

"How would I know?"

_"Just do it."_

He sounds so sure of himself, that I find myself obeying him, despite the fact that the room suddenly feels very hot and small.

"Excuse me. Pardon me. I need to feel his chest."

The small crowd parts like the red sea and I kneel down beside the poor guy. Baz crouches next to me.

_"Can you feel his ribs?"_

"No, but I can if I press down."

"What are you doing?" the Maître d’ asks.

"Checking him over."

_"Does he feel bloated?"_

"Mmm. I… I think so."

"Think what?"

He looks rather confused, but I’m too busy listening to Baz to care.

_"Ok, you need to repeat everything I say, word for word. Tell them you need a sharp paring knife and a bottle of vodka."_

"I need a sharp paring knife and a bottle of vodka." I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about.

I have no idea what I’m talking about.

"Jamie?" The Maître d’ calls.

"Yeah, I got it," He says, hurrying over. "What’s wrong with him?"

_"It’s a tension pneumothorax."_

Merlin! Why did it have to be something so unpronounceable?

"I think it’s a tension nemothaxer."

" _Pneumothorax"_

"Neumothaxer"

" _New-mo-thor-axe"_ Baz tries once more, slowly this time.

"New me Thor’s axe"

_"Never mind."_

"Never mind."

"But what is it?" the Maître d’ asks.

" _Air is escaping into his chest."_

I repeat it almost instantaneously.

" _Open his shirt"_

I start repeat this and Baz growls, " _No! You do it"_

"Don’t worry, I’ll do it."

I tear at the waiter’s shirt and open it right down to his waist.

_"There’s a valve at the opening of the lungs, if it doesn’t close then it constricts the lungs and compresses the organs. Now I want you to feel for his ribs again."_

My hands are shaking and I’m aware of how stubby my fingers are – gardener’s hands, made for digging and pruning and pulling up weeds. Definitely not surgeon’s hands.

" _A little bit lower. The spot between the two ribs – do you feel that?"_

"Yeah?"

_"Okay, now splash some vodka on it."_

It’s one of those bar bottles with a silver pourer in the top. I tip it up and pour vodka all over poor Dan’s chest.

_"All right, now get the knife."_

I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. What if something goes wrong and I hit an artery or something. I didn’t even do human physiology at Watford. The crowd feels like it’s pressing in and my ears are ringing. I rub the back of my neck, pick up the knife and look up.

"Okay, can I ask everyone to stand a little bit further back please?" I say, gesturing with the back of my hand.

The crowd moves back about a metre.

"Thank you," I say to them and then hiss at Baz, "what am I doing with the knife?"

_"Make an incision."_

"What? No way!"

_"Snow, this man’s life is at stake!"_

"I… I can’t stab a man."

My chin starts to wobble. My mind fills with the image of Ebb lying on the floor beneath the Mage’s hands, bleeding out and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I squeeze the handle of the small knife until the wobbling stops and look at Baz. His face is a picture of calm and control.

 _"Okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Simon,"_ he says gently, reaching out as if to put his hand on my shoulder.

He called me Simon.

_"You’re going to make a small hole for the air to escape, so put the knife on that spot"_

"How do you know this?"

_"I don’t know, I just do. Now do it! Put the knife there."_

He points at the place and I put my forefinger there and then place the knife next to it.

_"Now just push down and the knife will go in."_

I can feel the blade pressing down into Dan’s chest. I screw my eyes shut and take a deep breath.

_"You’re going to need to push harder than that… A little bit harder."_

"Oh Merlin."

I push as hard as I dare and feel the knife suddenly give. I’m trying pretty hard not to pass out or be sick right now.

_"Okay, good, that’s enough. Now take the pourer out of the vodka bottle."_

"What?"

_"You’re doing really well. Now…"_

"Wait a minute," I say, pulling the pourer out and then taking a good long swig of the vodka. It burns my throat bringing tears to my eyes. The Maitre d’ has obviously given up trying to work out who I’m talking to and has sat back on his heals watching intently. "Right, carry on," I gasp.

_"Put the pourer in the hole that you made."_

"Eww, really?"

_"It’s going to keep the wound open so air can escape."_

I hesitate.

_"Do it."_

"I can’t."

_"Simon, just do it."_

I push the pourer into the incision, trying not to gag as I do so. There’s the sound of escaping air and Dan starts breathing normally again.

"He’s breathing!"

_"Crowley, I’m a doctor…"_

"I’m a doctor!" I repeat.

"And thank goodness for that," The Maître d’ says.

"The ambulance is on its way," Jamie calls over from the phone behind the bar.

_"Ask where the nearest hospital is."_

"I’m... uh, new to the area. Do you know where they’ll be taking him?"

"There are several hospitals in the area, but I think the West Middlesex University hospital is nearest. Although the ambulance could be coming from Ealing, Charring Cross or even the Chelsea and Westminster, they’re all within about five miles. "

"Thank you," I say, getting slowly to my feet.

"No thank you, Doctor. Really, thank you so much. We owe you a meal on the house next time you’re passing."

***

Back out on the street, Baz is looking the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s almost floating.

"I may have been a cold loner, but Crowley Snow, I saved lives. I think I might have worked in a hospital. Actually, I’m sure of it. No wonder no-one ever saw me, doctors work long and unsociable hours. Cat lady indeed."

"I don’t think I’ve ever saved a life before," I say. "Unless you count shielding you from the chimera."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Story for another time," I laugh. My hands are shaking and I feel so lightheaded, almost drunk. (Maybe it’s the vodka). "But anyway, that was using magic, it’s different. What I mean is, I’ve never saved anyone with my bare hands before."

"It’s utterly brilliant isn’t it? One minute you’re looking at this monitor and it says, ‘game over,’ and then you bring them back and it’s like... completing a circuit."

I really like this Baz. I want to hug him, but, well, for too many reasons to list, that just can’t happen. I make do with giving him a lopsided grin, and am rewarded with a quick, genuine smile and a, "You did good, Snow."

***

Obviously I’m late for work and I kind of explain why, but I leave out the part where I cut someone’s chest open.  I make out I just sat with someone while we were waiting for the ambulance to come. Despite what Baz says about my hero complex, I do actually try to avoid drawing attention to myself whenever possible.

It’s a beautiful afternoon and Baz sits quietly listening to a book I downloaded for him on my phone whilst I get into the rhythm of digging over the vegetable beds. It’s so peaceful that it’s easy to forget the excitement of less than an hour ago. At one point, a robin that has been eyeing me from a distance flutters down to peck at the freshly turned earth. From time to time I’m aware Baz is watching me too, but I pretend I don’t notice. It’s nice.

"How long have you worked here, Snow?" he asks when I stop to wipe my brow with an old towel and grab some water.

"A couple of years now," I say, sitting on the bench and digging round in my bag for an apple. "I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do when we first left Watford, but I started helping people out in their gardens to get cash for my share of the rent and found that being outside was really good for my mind. It gave me peace and quiet to collect my thoughts, but I was busy enough that I didn’t have to think if I didn’t want to."

"But how did you end up here? It's quite prestigious isn't it?"

I rub the apple on my shirt and take a large bite. Baz is right, it's not the sort of place I ever thought I'd end up working.    

"They had some sculpture thing on one weekend and Penny dragged me along. I got bored and wandered off looking for something to eat and saw a sign advertising for volunteers. It started there, then after about six months they persuaded me to do their diploma in horticulture. I’m not quite sure how, but I managed to get on the course and was lucky enough to end up with a job here afterwards."

"So despite being an uncultured oaf who talks with his mouthful, you’re properly qualified then?"

"Um... I guess, yeah," I grin, pushing back my sweaty curls from my face.

I worked bloody hard to pass all the assignments and I’m proud of my achievement. Plus, I'm learning to ignore his snarky comments. 

A smile twitches at the side of his mouth.

"I’m impressed, Snow."

"Really? Baz, did you just pay me a compliment? Seriously? Merlin, I think this is a historical moment. Can I have it in writing? Be careful, people will think you’ve gone soft…"

I’m babbling but stop when I notice that his face has dropped.

"Was I really that bad?" he says.

"Only most of the time," I huff gently, trying to brush it off.

He looks thoughtful.

I start shovelling compost onto the veggie patch and digging it in. Neither of us talks for a while. I’m worried I’ve upset him. I mean, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, but I’ve been careful up to now to avoid actually letting on how much we argued. I sigh and wish I knew the right thing to say.

He doesn't speak again until the end of my shift, when I’m packing up my stuff. 

"I can see why you eat so much now - it makes me tired just watching you."

I’m so surprized to realise _that’s_ what he’s been brooding over, that without thinking, I lift the side of my shirt and pat my stomach, "Nothing but solid muscle here, Pitch."

He gives me a strange look, so I quickly bend over and chuck a couple of stray weeds in the wheelbarrow, before heading over to the shed to put the spade away, cheeks burning. What on earth made me do that? Why would Baz want to see my pale and mole-flecked stomach? And since when have I ever called him "Pitch"?

When I come out of the shed, he’s gone.

I always get it wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Between two lungs by Florence + the machine


	7. Tussle with the black dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, but I've had loads of work to do this weekend - sorry :(

I feel grimy after digging in the vegetable garden all day and my skin is tight from the surprisingly strong spring sun. After showering, I change into clean trackie bottoms and a t-shirt; the temperature has dropped but I’m always warm. When I open the doors to the balcony to get some fresh air into the flat, I don’t notice Baz at first, but I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye when he jumps up, almost guiltily, as I come out.

"Baz? Are you okay?" I ask. "Why did you leave so suddenly?"

"I was tired."

"But you… just left."

"How observant," he sneers.

"I just thought you would have said goodbye."

"Why? You’re not my keeper. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to inform you of my every move."

"But…"

"I was tired, Snow and I wanted to go home. And, anyway, I didn’t know how long you were going to be hiding in the shed."

"I wasn’t hi…"

"Goodnight, Snow," he says and stalks past me into the flat.

"Baz! Talk to me." I reach out to grab his arm, but my hand closes on itself, passing right through him.

"What’s the point?" He sighs bitterly and disappears.

I sit down on the bench and stare out over the park. It’s my favourite thing to do at this time of evening, when the sun is at that low angle that gives everything that saturated, almost Disney colouring. But thanks to Baz, I can’t even enjoy that now. I’m furious to find that tears are pricking my eyes and my leg has started its rapid bouncing thing. I knew it was too good to be true, that the truce wouldn’t last. I just didn’t think that we’d make it less than forty eight hours before it all went to shit. Then again, I don’t know why I’m so surprized. This is Baz we’re talking about.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes me start. I wipe my cheeks awkwardly with the shoulder of my t-shirt and turn round. Baz is leaning against the doorframe.

"It’s not _you_ , Snow," he says softly.

"What?"

"The reason I left. Well, I mean it is, _you_ , but it’s not anything you’ve done…"

"For once…"

"Shut up will you. I’m trying to explain. It’s just… being with you in the garden today. Seeing you digging, sweating even. Crowley, you were so… alive and it just made me feel…" he lets out a juddering sigh. "I don’t know. You’re so alive and I’m… I’m…"

He sinks to the floor and rests his head in his arms. I rush over and drop to my knees in front of him.

"You’re not dead, Baz, if that’s what you’re trying to say."

"You don’t know that," he mumbles into his arms. "I mean all evidence seems to suggest otherwise."

Oh Baz.

There’s nothing I can do to comfort him, and words aren’t exactly my strong point.

"Hey," I say gently. "This isn’t like you. The Baz I knew wouldn’t give up so easily. He’d say, ‘fuck the lot of you’ and just make out like it was all beneath him."

"I’m not that boy anymore."

"I know, but from what I’ve seen in the last couple of days, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Look at the man you’ve become – I mean, great snakes, you’re a doctor, Baz."

" _Was_ a doctor."

" _Are_ a doctor. And I’m taking tomorrow off, so we can spend the day going to the local hospitals to see if you work in one of them. Someone will know something. It’s not time to give up yet."

He lifts his head and looks at me, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, before dropping his arms to his sides. The glow of the sunset is reflecting in his deep grey eyes and turning his flawless skin golden. He looks softer, vulnerable almost. Who is he?

"And you still don’t believe that I’m dead?

I shake my head firmly.

"I do not believe that you’re dead," I say trying to ignore the prickling sense of déjà vu.

He swallows, and it’s obvious how nervous he is – his voice is low and uncertain.

"I… I can’t believe I’m talking about… feelings, with you. It’s just that one moment I was enjoying sitting in the garden, feeling so peaceful and then a wave of irrational jealousy swept over me. I didn’t want to be dead, but nor did I want to be stuck like this forever, always on the outside, unable to participate in life. It seemed so unfair. Either way, I lose."

I let my hand rest next to his.

"We’re _going_ to get to the bottom of this. Seriously, I’ll take the day off and we’ll go to every hospital in London if we have to. Merlin! We defeated the humdrum - finding one mage is going to be a doddle…"

We’re whispering now. I’m not sure why.

He frowns. "You make it sound so easy. Is this how you get what you want? By just repeating it until it comes true?"

"Isn’t that how you cast a spell?" I laugh softly.

He closes his eyes. "Simon…"

I turn so that I am sitting next to him, leaning against the wall of the flat, and we sit in silence, watching the last of the late April sunset spread like flames through the silhouettes of the trees in the park.

***

We’ve been to six hospitals before we try the small teaching hospital about five miles from Baz’s flat. As we enter the main reception, Baz suddenly perks up and starts looking round with wide eyes.

"This is it, Snow! I work here, I’m sure. It’s all coming back. The receptionist is called Krisha and there’s um… Ben and… Ash…"

I go over to the reception desk and rest my hands on the counter.

"Can I help you, Sir?" She says, turning away from her computer screen.

I give her what I hope is a confident smile.

"Hi, yes. I was wondering if you could tell me if Dr Pitch is working here today."

She looks caught off guard. "Dr Pitch?"

"Yes, Dr Basilton Pitch, he’s about the same age as me, slim, dark hair, about six foot two..."

" _Three_."

"Or three."

"Dr Pitch is um... not active on our staff right now," she says, standing up quickly. "Hold on, let me talk to someone."

She moves towards an office behind the reception and taps a guy in a white coat on the shoulder. "Excuse me doctor…"

Baz’s face falls.

_"Oh no, she’s got that tone."_

"What tone?"

_"The tone… the one you use when you’re trying to evade your responsibility and get somebody else to tell you your friend died."_

I look back over to where the receptionist and the doctor are exchanging hushed words. The doctor glances over, looking guilty? Sad? Honestly it’s hard to tell, and now my brain is all over the place trying to work out what the hell could be going on.

The receptionist returns. "Excuse me sir, I need you to go to the third floor nurses station. Someone there will be able to help you. If I can take your name, I’ll let them know you are on your way."

"Right, um… thanks. It’s er… Simon Snow."

The lift seems to take forever to arrive, but eventually we make it up to level three. There’s a woman in a white coat with a stethoscope round her neck already waiting at the desk.

_"Oh no, it’s Sandra. She’s my consultant supervisor. They wouldn’t send us up here if it wasn’t bad."_

"Mr Snow?"

She holds her hand out and I shake it, trying to keep positive.

"Hi, um.. yes?"

"Sandra Liu. Nice to meet you. You’ve been enquiring about Baz Pitch?"

"Yeah, that’s right. Could you tell me what happened to him?"

"Okay, but first I need to know your relationship with him."

_"Tell her you’re my boyfriend. She can’t tell you anything unless she knows we’re intimately connected."_

I feel my cheeks flush. "Oh, um… we’re… romantic with each other."

Baz rolls his eyes at my awkwardness.

She looks at me warily. "What do you mean?"

"Um... boyfriends. He’s my boyfriend."

She laughs then, but not unkindly. "I know what romantic means, but I… I have a hard time believing that."

_"What? Why?"_

"What? Why? You didn’t know he was gay? Do you have a problem with that?"

I feel defensive for him.

"No! Not at all, it’s just Baz’s whole life was his work, either here or at the private practice."

_"Was? Did she say was?"_

"I don’t know of a single date he’d been on," she continues.

_"You need to sound more convincing, or she won’t tell you anything."_

"Well, we were fairly recent, um, kind of one of those whirlwind romances. I actually live in his flat..."

_"Snow!"_

"I mean his building that is."

"So you don’t know about the accident?"

 _"Accident?"_ Baz frows. _"Oh Crowley, Simon. I remember it now. It was awful."_

"I was… I’ve been away with work and he just stopped calling. It was driving me mental not knowing where he was or what’s happened to him. So as soon as I got back and found he wasn’t in his flat, I came looking for him. This seemed like a good place to start."

"It was three months ago and there were… complications."

" _Complications?"_

"What kind of complications?"

"Baz has a rare blood disorder. As your relationship was so new, I guess he hadn’t told you. Anyway, his family took him straight to a private clinic. You’ll need to go through them if you want to visit him."

"So he’s still alive?"

"As I said, you’ll have to speak to his parents. It’s been three months. I’m so sorry I haven’t got better news, Mr Snow." She looks at her pager. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to be getting on."

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your time."

***

He’s quiet on the way home and I’m too busy trying not to get knocked off my bike by crazy London drivers to ask him any questions. I didn’t know Baz had anything wrong with him. I mean he was so pale at school and always cold (I feel terrible for some of the things I thought back then), but he always played sport and never missed any of his lessons, so I never considered he might be ill. 

Back in the flat, I stop in front of the fridge as it occurs to me: "Baz, are you anaemic?"

"No, Snow. Anaemia’s not exactly a rare blood disorder is it?"

"Well I dunno do I? You’re the one who’s a doctor, not me. So what’s wrong with you then?"

"I don’t know. I can’t remember," he snaps a little too quickly.

He’s lying.

I can tell.

The question is, why? What could be so bad that he doesn’t want me to know? It feels like the answer is somewhere at the back of my mind, but I’m tired and hungry after all the excitement, so I decide not to worry about it right now.

"You know what this means though, don’t you?" he says.

"What?" I say through a mouthful of cold shepherd’s pie that I found in the fridge.

"It’s obvious, isn’t it?" He’s started pacing again.

"Is it?"

"Yes. We’ve got to visit my parents. Get them to tell you where they’re keeping me."

"But your parents hate me," I complain, shoving the rest of the shepherd’s pie in the microwave.

"My parents hated you when you were the Mage’s heir, when you were the ‘Chosen One’. I daresay they have no opinion of you whatsoever now that you’ve lost your magic."

Now that I’m nothing he means.

He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but it doesn’t stop his words from hurting. I grip the edge of the worktop and stare at my supper turning slowly in the microwave. My tail flicks restlessly, a reminder that I may not be magic, but don't have the luxury of being completely normal either.

"Alright," I say. "We’ll go tomorrow."

But I can’t sleep.

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, filled with a terrific sense of dread at the thought of turning up, unannounced, at the house of fucking Pitch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Dead Boys' by Sam Fender  
> If anyone's interested, there's a Spotify playlist "Snowbaz just like heaven" https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PzhW5Addt5nwILmpquGHn


	8. Come out and play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments - they really make my day!  
> 

We get a train to Hampshire. And then a taxi. But we have to walk the five miles from the road as the taxi driver is afraid the place is haunted.

"He’s got a point," Baz says when I complain as we trudge up the drive.

"What do you mean?"

"It is," he shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I have so much to say about that, but I don’t even know where to start. So I don’t say anything.

 

Nearer the house, the long tarmac drive gives way to gravel and every step seems to announce our arrival. I don’t care; I’m ready march up to the front door, knock loudly and demand answers. But it seems Baz has other ideas.

"Wait," he says stopping.

I turn to face him. "What?"

"What are you going to say?"

"I dunno. I was going to knock on the door, see who answered and then worry about the rest after. I hadn’t exactly thought it through that far."

"You haven’t thought it through?" He frowns.

"Never do. Doesn’t seem to make much difference in my experience. Things either work out or they don’t."

"Seriously, you were just going to improvise? Have you heard yourself when you’re nervous?"

"Well, I wasn’t particularly nervous until now. Anyway, if you were so worried about it, why didn’t you say something on the train? Or in the taxi come to that?"

"It was rather crowded in case you didn’t notice. I thought even _you_ might have been embarrassed to be seen talking to yourself on the 9.35 from Waterloo."

"I could always have pretended to be on the phone to Penny," I huff. "So now, instead of embarrassing myself in front of total strangers, I’m standing outside your Gothic mansion, where a member of your family could look out of one of a dozen windows at any moment," I sweep my arm dramatically at the front of the house to prove my point, "and see the ex-Chosen One talking to himself and waving his arms around."

"It’s not Gothic, it’s Victorian," Baz says, sulkily.

He knows I’m right but he’ll never admit it.

"So what do you want me to do then?"

He glares at me and starts walking towards the front door. "Fine. Have it your way. Let’s just knock on the door and see what happens. But don’t forget that they are only Grimm, not Grimm-Pitch."

I try not to look smug. He's not really angry, he's nervous; we’re so close to finding the truth that it’s almost unbearable.

The door is opened by a woman in her fifties, wearing a black dress and a white apron.

 _"That’s Vera,"_ Baz says. _"She used to be my nanny."_

"May I help you, Sir?"

"Um, yes. I was hoping I could speak to Mr and Mrs Grimm."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Merlin, I knew Baz was posh, but servants? And needing to make an appointment to see the family?

"I um.."

_"Just say you’re a friend of mine and you wanted to enquire after my health."_

"I’m an old school friend of Baz’s and I heard he’d had an accident. I was just passing and thought I’d pop in to see if there was any news."

Like anyone just ‘pops in’ up a five mile driveway to a house in the middle of nowhere.

"Master Pitch, you mean?"

"Yes, ma’am."

I’m not sure what I’m meant to call her, but ma’am seemed appropriate and Baz hasn’t coughed or complained, so I guess it’s about right.

She glances over my shoulder.

"Did you walk here?"

"Um… from the road, yes. It’s such a beautiful day…and er the fresh air..."

"And the taxi driver wouldn’t come all the way up here. Am I right?" She’s stern, but not unkind.

"Yes."

"Well you’d better come in. The master of the house isn’t here right now, but I’ll let the lady know she has a visitor."

"Thank you."

I follow her into the house and stand and wait on a rug, looking round the impressive hallway. It’s so large there’s an actual fireplace in the wall on one side and there are doorways leading off in several directions.

She returns shortly. "The lady will see you in the dining room," she says. "Come with me."

I follow her from one huge room to the other. Baz’s house isn’t a castle, I don’t think, but near enough, everything seems to be either dark wood or dark red. We come to a dining room that looks like something off _Downton Abbey_ , with its long polished table. There’s a pretty dark-haired woman at the table, working on a flash silver laptop. She’s wearing an expensive-looking royal blue dress and a string of pearls. She stands when we enter.

"Ma’am, this is the young man I was telling you about, he’s one of Master Pitch’s friends from school."

 _"My stepmother, Daphne,"_ Baz says. _"She’s nice, but she’ll be wary if Father isn’t here to support her."_

For a brief moment, I’m sure there’s a flash of recognition on her face, but she quickly straightens her expression and clears her throat.

"Daphne Grimm," she says holding out her hand.

I close the space between us and shake her hand.

"Simon Snow," I say. "It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Grimm."

She looks at me curiously. But I guess everyone in the magical world knows my name. Plus Baz and I were roommates for nearly eight years, so it’s not unexpected.

"Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffeee?"

"Oh, uh, no… thank you," I say, pulling the cuffs on my hoodie, glad that I’d at least put some jeans on rather than my usual trackie bottoms, but still feeling ridiculously underdressed.

The clock above the mantelpiece ticks loudly, marking off each awkward second that we both just stand there looking at each other.

"Are you here on official business?" She asks finally.

Official business? What kind of official business am I likely to be on? I’ve no magic and have had nothing to do with the Coven (except Penny’s family) since I left Watford.

"No! That is, I um… I heard about Baz’s accident and I was just passing, so I thought I’d come to see if he was able to have visitors. Or if there was anything I could do to help."

"Help?" She says, looking confused. "In what way?"

"I um… I don’t know really." I swallow. "Do you need anything?"

I look around the room and I don’t need to see Baz rolling his eyes to know that was a stupid thing to say. What could they possibly need that I could give them?

She sighs, "Look, Simon is it? It’s very kind of you, but there’s nothing we need short of a miracle right now. "

I think I freeze. Last time people were talking about miracles, my friend Ebb had just died and my life was about to officially turn to shit. So I don’t care much for miracles.

"Oh, r…right… I…"

Finally she seems to take pity on me as she watches me fight for something to say. Her face softens and she gives me a look that, to be honest, is standard issue for anyone who happens to be my friend. It’s a kind of pity / ‘you’re a bit of an idiot aren’t you?’ look, that I’m most used to seeing on Penny.

"I didn’t realise you boys were still in touch."

"I… we… that is to say… it’s been a while, but we were roommates for eight years, so when I heard, you know, about the accident…"

"Yes, how exactly did you hear? We’ve tried to keep it very quiet. I wasn’t aware that it was common knowledge."

_"Say you bumped into Dev on the underground. He’s family but he’s such an indiscreet git, she’ll believe you."_

"I bumped into Dev…" I start, but I needn’t have worried about an elaborate cover story as she’s already seized on the name.

"Dev? I suppose I should have guessed. Fine, well if you want to see him, I’m sure we could arrange for you to come back next week. It’s just now isn’t a very good time, the children will be home from school soon and Malcolm, well…"

He’s here.

That means he's here.

I turn to see how Baz is reacting to the news, but he’s already moving off through the house and making his way up a grand staircase. I try to keep up with him, but he seems to be almost floating. We get to a long hallway and Baz disappears through a tall arched door at the end. I open it cautiously and find myself in an enormous bedroom with red panelled walls and stacks of antique dark wood furniture. Baz is standing in the centre of the room, staring at a huge bed. It’s monstrous and decorated with gargoyles and thick red drapes. The beeping of a hospital monitor that’s almost hidden on the other side of the bed alerts me to the fact there is actually someone lying in there.

I step closer.

"Merlin, it’s you. It’s really you. You’re not dead, Baz, you’re alive. I knew it, see?"

"I know, Snow, but I’m in a coma. This is not good."

He walks round to the side of the bed to look at the displays on the various monitors and the clipboard of notes.

"Well it’s way better than dead. Look at you, your body’s pretty much healed. It’s… you don’t have any scars. You look… normal."

But he looks far from normal and I have to stop myself from telling him he looks beautiful. Long dark eyelashes brush his cheeks and his hair is loose across the pillow. He looks so relaxed, like he could just be sleeping. It suits him as it softens the usually hard lines of his face and lips; there’s not even a hint of a sneer.

"But I’m just lying there."

"You’ve been through worse."

"Worse? What’s worse than a coma?"

"You were kidnapped by numpties and starved for six weeks. You looked terrible then, you don’t look anywhere near as bad now. "

"It doesn’t matter how I look," he says sadly. "Three months, that’s a persistent coma."

I square my shoulders. I can’t have Baz falling apart, that just wrong.

"Well we’re here now. We should try to do something," I say.

"What do you suggest?"

"Like… I don’t know. I mean, you’re the doctor, Baz."

"Right… right…"he says, looking down at his sleeping form.

He takes a deep breath, like he’s going to say something, but then just sighs, "no, forget it."

"What?"

"Well, I was going to say that I need to find a way to put myself back together again, but really that sounds too simplistic."

"No, no… you might have something there. But um… how do we do that?"

He climbs up onto the bed and lies down on top of his body, sinking down into himself. The heart rate on the machine rises slightly.

"Has it worked?"

"I’m not sticking," he says and sits up. "It’s like I’m not connected to this body anymore."

He gets off the bed and is walking over to the window when I get an idea.

"Baz, don’t turn round, I want to try something."

I carefully pick up his hand from where it’s lying on top of the sheets and rub my thumb in small circles across the back.

Baz lifts his own hand, staring at it in amazement and turns to face me, his eyes wide.

"You felt that?"

"My hand’s tingling."

Not just his, I think, placing his hand gently back down on the bed. The monitor continues to beep steadily.

"See? You are still connected to your body."

"The monitor doesn’t agree."

"Machines don’t know everything."

"Everything in my training says they do, Snow."

"Then how are we having this conversation? And come on, what about magic?"

"I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s any healing magic that can mend something as intangible as this. I somehow doubt, **_‘get well soon!’_** will cut it."

"I’m not giving up on you, Baz."

The door opens. Daphne is there, a sad look on her face. I’m not sure how much of that (to her, one-sided) conversation she heard.

"Basilton’s father will be back soon, I really think it would be for the best for everyone if you weren’t still here when he gets home."

Baz snorts, _"T_ _hat's undoubtedly something I’d have paid money to see in the past, but I agree with Daphne, it’s probably best if you’ leave. My father can be prickly at the best of times, and right now he’s probably wringing his hands about the Pitch name dying with me. He’ll be like a worseger with a sore head."_

"Can I just have a couple more minutes please?" I say to Daphne.  "I’m... I'm saying goodbye."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

She leaves the room, pulling the door to.

"My little sisters must have made these things for me."

Baz is standing by the desk, picking up various drawings of someone with long black hair, black clothes and a huge smile.

"Wow, it’s an amazing likeness!" I laugh, but he’s already picking up something else and gazing at it wistfully.

"Look at this. It’s the missing picture from my nightstand. Fiona must have brought it here."

It’s Baz and his aunt Fiona, their arms round each other, clinking a pair of pints in a crowded bar. I don’t really like her (she once spelled my feet into the dirt), although seeing Baz looking so happy and carefree, does soften me to her. But only slightly.

"You look… good," I say.

"Yes, well, look at me now, Snow. Those levels aren’t changing - if anything, they’re decreasing."

I can't argue with him about that.

"Hey.. umm… I’m going to have to leave soon."

"Alright."

I can’t leave him like this.

"Do you want me to wait somewhere in the garden for you?"

"Crowley no!"

He must see my confusion as he adds, "Go home, Simon and get some rest."

"Are… are you sure you don’t want to come back with me? After all it is your flat."

"It’s fine. It might be hard to understand, but after finally making it here, I can’t imagine leaving myself."

"I know, it just feels weird leaving you here, alone. You said the house is haunted, and if you don’t mind me saying, this room is kind of creepy."

Baz’s shoulders slump.

"Goodbye, Snow."

"Bye, Baz."

When I open Baz's bedroom door, I can hear the sound of children squabbling in another part of the house, but I’m ushered quickly out to a waiting car and don't get to see them. Daphne closes the car door behind me, then bends down to whisper through the open window.

"Thank you for visiting, Mr Snow.  But I don't think we'll be seeing you here again, will we? Let’s not expose old wounds."

As I stare out of the back window of the Jaguar watching the house grow smaller, I can’t help but wonder what she meant.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Come out and play by Billie Eilish


	9. Untitled (for now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your continued support and lovely comments <3

The flat feels too quiet without him. I roam from room to room, half expecting to see him lurking somewhere, ready to pass comment on what I’m wearing, or eating or doing.

"Baz?"

The silence is deafening.

I end up in the kitchen and pull open the cupboards, staring at the empty shelves, trying to will some food into existence. To be fair, I guess you have to go shopping once in a while if you want to have food in your house and I’ve been a bit too preoccupied. There’s the end of a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. I drop a couple of slices into the toaster and lean on the counter waiting for the toast to pop. I imagine Baz sneering at my supper, "More carbs, Snow? Do you ever eat vegetables?"

"Fine!" I say to the kitchen ceiling.

I dig around in the freezer and find a pack of fish fingers and some and some frozen peas. I shove a potato in the microwave and make an almost acceptable meal. Penny and I always ate properly when we lived together. I hate cooking for one.

After I’ve eaten, I take a cup of tea through to the living room. I even put a coaster down before I put it on the coffee table. I’m just settling down to watch Dr Who, when the doorbell rings.

It’s Katrina, the upstairs neighbour.

"I’m locked out," she says, looking anything but as flustered as you’d expect someone in her position to be.

She wanders round the living room whilst I google local locksmiths. She's picking up Baz’s things and looking through his books and vinyl collection. I want to scream at her to stop touching his stuff, but the sooner I get a locksmith called, the sooner she’ll be gone. She keeps looking over at me, I think it’s to see if I’m watching her. I'm not. Under other circumstances I might've been; she’s not in work out gear this time, just super skinny jeans, a tight white tank and tiny pink cardigan.  But right now, all I can think about is getting her out of here so that I can focus on how to help Baz. I scribble a couple of numbers on a piece of paper and hand it to her. Whilst she makes her calls, she leans on the doorframe, looking out onto the balcony.

"You’ve got a great view of the park," she says as she tosses her phone onto the sofa afterwards. "Doesn’t this location make London more bearable?"

"I um…"

"Wait, you’re not from London are you?"

I shake my head, "I’m not really from anywhere," I say.

"Oh, good" she says, only half listening. She flops back onto the sofa, slipping her feet out of her pumps and shrugging off her cardigan.

"And what’s with all the single men in this town? They’re either taken or they’re gay…" and she's off without waiting for a response. She lurches from one monologue to the next and I quickly lose track, because I’m too busy thinking about Baz. And how much I agree with his first assessment of my sexy but highly tedious neighbour. He’d be so smug if he knew how I felt.

I’m not sure how or when we got onto Game of Thrones, but I think we must have done at some point, because when I realise she’s saying, "I guess if I had to choose, I go with the midget…" I have literally no idea what she’s talking about. I’m fed up with being polite, so I get up to look out of the window to see if there’s any sign of a van, and interrupt her mid-flow. "I’m sorry, the locksmith does know they have to buzz my flat don’t they?"

She’s sits up now stretching her long legs out in front of her, mussing her hair and looking up at me all false innocence. I think she’s used to being prettier than everyone else and getting her way.

"Uh, I think so…"

I really don’t have time for her games. Baz would have kicked her out by now.

"So... where's your bathroom? Do you mind if I…?"

Yes, I do. I just want her to leave. But of course I don’t say that.

She doesn’t even wait for me to answer before she she’s walking across the room, thumbs hooked in the top of her jeans, her tiny tank top rising to show toned abs. She really does have a great body. And she knows it. I try not to look, I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.

"Um there’s two – an en-suite off each bedroom. Help yourself."

She struts out. And I mean full-on catwalk strut, hips swaying. I know I’m not good at reading signals, but I kind of get the feeling she might be into me. Once she’s left, I rub my face with both hands then push my hair back, groaning. I really don’t need this right now. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s actually got locked out at all.

I go into the corridor to see where she went and almost bump into Baz.

"Merlin!" I gasp. "Baz!"

"Were you expecting someone else?" He asks coolly.

"N…no, I just… you scared the living shit out of me. I didn’t think you were going to come back. I thought you were going to stay in your room with your body."

"That was the plan, yes, but then the doctor visited with my father and that’s when the shit really hit the fan. The doctor was trying to get my him to sign papers authorising permission to take me off life support. Father was completely silent for once and just said he’d think about it, but Daphne looked like she was going to faint. Then Mordelia burst into the room and was sobbing and then the littluns started crying even though I’m not sure they knew what was going on."

"But… Surely they can’t do that, can they?"

"Apparently I signed some papers when I joined the hospital staff, about not artificially prolonging life. But, that was before." He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "It was like some kind of nightmare, I was shouting and shouting and no one could hear me… I had thought that maybe Mordelia might feel… something, we were always close, but she just stared right through me. It seems you’re the only one who can possibly help me. So I came back. Crowley, Snow, I can’t let it happen. I feel like I’m fighting for my life, and I’m scared that I’m going to lose."

I lift my hand as if to hold his shoulder.

"Baz, I…"

And of course with perfectly horrible timing, Katrina choses that moment to call me in a sickly-sweet, sing-song voice, "Simon…"

This is awkward for both of us. I let my hand drop to my side and look down the corridor towards the bedroom.

"Um… just a minute," I call back, through gritted teeth.

Baz whips his head round, the old sneer back in an instant.

"Well that didn’t take very long."

Of course he’s going to get the wrong idea. Just great.

"No, no, she barged in – sh… she got locked out of her flat."

"You certainly don’t have to explain to me, I get it." His mouth is set in a line.

"No, you don’t get anything, she’s just using the toilet."

"Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bedroom…"

"It’s an en-suite, what do you expect?"

I’m beginning to panic slightly, I really don’t want him to get upset and leave, but my position is not looking good.

"Hey, Simon… come in here, I wanna show you something," she calls as her jeans fly out from my bedroom door and land with a soft flop, the zip catching on the wooden floor.

Baz raises an eyebrow. Having got over the initial shock, he now seems to be enjoying my discomfort. Of course he is, the git.

"I had no idea that was what she was doing," I say, eyes wide.

"You genuinely had no idea she was naked on your bed?" He smirks.

"No?" I say, but it comes out as a slight question.

I mean, even I was beginning to think something was up.

We stare at each other, then he narrows his eyes.

"You’re wondering what she looks like!"

"I am not," I huff.

"Come on, Snow, not even a little?"

"Baz. No!"

"Hmm… I tell you what, I’ll go and find out, shall I?"

"Please don’t."

"Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. Isn’t that what they say?"

"Baz… no, no, no."

I’m stupidly flustered. How do I get myself into these situations? But he's already off down the hallway

"Calm down, Chosen One." His eyes have gone a little wild. He shoves his head through the door. "Interesting…" he says, leaving me hanging.

"What?"

"She’s got a tattoo at the base of her spine."

"I don’t care."

"In three languages. She’s obviously very cultured," he says sarcastically.

"You know, you almost sound jealous?"

He rolls his eyes, "Oh please, Snow."

"You do!"

"Are you talking to someone?" Katrina asks, coming out of the bedroom, wearing only the smallest towel and a coy smile. "Hey, what’s going on?"

_"Eyes up top, Snow."_

"N.. nothing."

"Look, I’m sorry if I’m coming on a little too strong," she says. "That’s just my style. I hear you sometimes down here, by yourself," she walks closer. "Is it wrong for me to want to touch someone? Be close. Feel a warm body next to me? We're both adults, alone, in this big old city. Don't tell me you don't feel it too, that you don't have needs..."

Baz shakes his head, almost sadly. _"This is idiotic. Just do it, Snow."_

"What?"

My stomach lurches; I can’t believe what he’s saying.

 _"Go ahead, be with her,"_ he sighs. _"It’s what you both want."_

"No, it isn’t," I growl.

He’s so frustrating. How could he possibly believe that I’d rather spend my evening with Katrina when I could be with him? Why would I want to look at her blandly pretty face when I could be watching his, with its familiar, boldly drawn lines? He’s so fucking smart, so how can he be so stupid. There’s simply no competition.

Katrina looks mildly puzzled. "Are you alright? Do you… want to take some kind of medication first? It’s cool if you do."

I don’t even understand what she’s saying.

_"Simon, it’s okay. She’s beautiful and real, and she’s right here in front of you. And I’m… I’m clearly just in the way."_

He starts to walk towards the kitchen.

"No, you’re not, Baz.. Baz… Baz!" I look over my shoulder at him.

"Um, it’s _Katrina_ ," she says as I turn back round. And then just like that, she drops her towel. "Uh-oh," she sings.

I don’t think it was an accident.

 

Once I manage to convince Katrina to leave, I find Baz on the balcony, staring out over the park.

I clear my throat

"That was quick," he says disinterestedly. (But I can tell he’s secretly pleased.)

"Come on, nothing happened," I say, hanging back a bit.

"What did you say to her?"

I look down at my scruffy trainers.

"Um… that I was seeing someone."

Baz chuckles, and looks round. "Honestly?"

"Yeah, well, I didn’t tell her that I was the only person who could."

Baz laughs again, kind of shyly, and turns away again. I move to stand next to him and we both just stare out over the park our hands resting next to each other's on the railings. It's so good that we can be silent together and I don't always have to be scratching around for something to say.

"You know I haven’t … haven’t really had a proper relationship since Agatha?" I say after a while.

If you can even call what we had a proper relationship, the number of times we broke up.

"I’m actually surprised that you didn’t end up with her," he replies.  "I guess I always thought you’d sort out whatever it was you were squabbling about and get back together for good. I’m sorry you didn’t get your golden destiny."

"Wasn’t ever likely really was it?" I huff. "I mean she was half in love with you most of the time."

"Hmm, well, I’m probably partly to blame for that, aren’t I?"

He looks right at me now, and I turn to face him.  He holds my gaze, like he’s trying to work out if I still bear a grudge. Obviously I don’t. Although the seventeen-year-old part of my brain is still fuming with him.

"But, you must have known you were gay back then, why did you flirt with her?"

"Obvious isn't it?" He says, cocking an eyebrow as if to dare me to challenge him. "To get under your skin."

I shove my hands in my pockets and sniff.

"Piss off," I say, but there’s no malice in my words.

He looks thoughtful. "I’m sorry, Simon," he says softly. "I should have left her alone."

It's all a bit intense. I rub the back of my neck.

"S’alright. We’d have never worked out anyway. I think I was always a bit of an embarrassment to her. I never knew what was the right suit or the right shoe or necktie to wear. I couldn’t even ride a horse."

He doesn’t say anything to that; he probably agrees with her.

"Your father really wouldn’t sign those papers would he?" I say, trying to get the focus back on the present.

"I don’t know, I hope not."  Anyway, it won’t even matter soon, my brain activity is decreasing every day."

"Maybe that’s not such a bad thing."

"What?" He lifts both his eyebrows.

"Yeah, it’ll bring you down to my level, you’re too fucking clever for your own good."

He lowers his eyebrows, but doesn’t turn his head away.

"What do you mean? You’re not stupid."

"That’s not what you were always telling me at school."

His eyes blaze. "You weren’t stupid, Simon you just weren’t very good at magic, there’s a difference. Anyway, you made up for it by being so ridiculously…"

He stops and I swear he’s blushing, but he looks away and changes the subject quickly.

"So what else do you do, apart from digging the veggie patch at Kew?"

It seems like a good excuse to get out of here.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

I grab the keys to Penny’s car from the hook in the kitchen. She left it at her parents and said I could borrow it whenever I wanted. They don’t mind me just taking it without asking, so although it’s the middle of the night by the time we get to Hounslow, no-one bothers us as I reverse Penny’s mini out onto the empty street. By the time the sun’s starting to rise, we’re driving up the driveway of a big country house in Sussex.

"Where are we?"

"An estate I worked on last spring. The family are friends of the Wellbeloves, but they’re in the Maldives right now, so we won’t see anyone."

"Aren’t we trespassing?"

"Don’t worry, we’re not going inside."

I lead the way round the side of the house and down a long lawn, the dew soaking through my trainers. We pass through a wrought iron gate into a woodland glade of tall thin trees, carpeted with a sea of bluebells. There are still traces of early morning mist and the sun is just starting to filter through the young leaves, creating a patches of dappled light.

"What is this place?" Baz asks, turning a full circle, trying to take it all in.

"It’s part of the Salisbury Park estate. When I was working on the garden, this was my favourite place to come and take a break."

"It’s beautiful," he whispers, his eyes soft for once.

I expect my own expression is similar from looking at him. I just can't quite get over this Baz; he's the same in most ways, the good ways, yet he's also so different.  It's like some of the barriers have dropped, now that he doesn't have to worry about us killing each other anymore. We sit for some time on an old wooden bench, neither of us feeling the need to talk. At one point, a young roe deer steps out of the shadows, its short antlers still covered with velvet. It sniffs the air, but seems unafraid. When it wanders off, Baz says, "We have woods behind the house in Hampshire, but the bluebells are nothing like this."

"They’re pretty much my favourite thing this time of year," I say. "The family employed me to create a meadow garden for them, round the other side, but it won’t really be in bloom yet. It’s still too early in the season."

"So you really don’t just shovel piles of shit onto veggie beds?"

I do a Baz, and roll my eyes at him. "Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place."

I take him round the rest of the gardens, including my meadow garden, which is beginning to show signs of colour. I’d used most of my holiday entitlement last year to take on the job, but it was worth it.

"What a pleasure it must be to be able to create a place like this," he says.

"Yeah, it was."

"Is it going to be again? What were those designs you were working on?"

I shrug. "Nothing specific, I just like to design gardens, it’s relaxing. It’s kind of like trying to piece together a living 3D puzzle. I’d really like to set up my own landscape gardening business someday."

"You should definitely do it."

Just then my mobile rings. Who the hell’s calling me this early on a Saturday morning?

"Hello?"

It’s the estate agent.

"Simon, it’s Grace. Sorry to call so early, but I couldn't wait to let you know that you are the luckiest man in London."

"Umm.. thank you. Why?"

"Great news, the apartment is yours if you want it. They’re willing to give you a six month lease whilst they sort everything out."

"What do you mean? Why now?"

I can hear papers rustling as she moves things about on her desk.

"Sad story. Do you remember I said there’d been a family tragedy? Turns out their son had a terrible accident and has been in a coma. Anyway, they’re going to pull the plug tomorrow. But, you’ll be glad to hear you can keep all the furniture for now."

"I'll... I'll have to call you back," I say, ending the call and shoving my phone in my pocket.

I turn to Baz who is watching me intently.

"What?" He says, sharply.

"Come on," I say, starting to run back to the car. "We need to go and talk to your father."

"What? Why? What are you going to say to him?"

I don't stop running, and point the keys at the car to unlock it.  I yank the door open and slide in. Baz is already in the passenger seat as I slam the car into reverse and spin it round.

"We need to find a way to get him to believe me that you’re here," I say, breathing heavily. "Your father must have agreed to follow your wishes - they're pulling the plug tomorrow unless I can persuade him otherwise."

"What? Aleister Crowley, Snow.  My father is one of the most cynical and stubborn men I know. I have absolutely no idea how you can hope to change his mind."

The mini is bumping down the long drive, its hard suspension making even the smallest bump feel like we're about to take off.  It's all very 'Italian Job'.

"I guess I'm going to need some dirt on him," I say. "What have you got?"

"Nothing, he's clean as a whistle.  It's hopeless."

He stares out of the window, his brow furrowed.

"Merlin, Baz, don't give up on me now.  Look, the only other way that this is going to work is if I tell him something that only you would know. Something so intimate, something so personal..."

"I’m a vampire," he cuts in.

No shit.

“Yeah.  That should work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title "Untitled (For Now) by Oliver Daldry.  
> Playlist on Spotify "Snowbaz just like heaven"


	10. The fear of falling apart

"Is that it? How are you okay with this?" He says.

I risk glancing at him, flash him a quick grin and then focus on the road again.

"Well, I mean I always _knew_ it… all that sneaking off to the catacombs, I just had no actual proof. Even when we were working to find out who killed your mum you wouldn’t actually admit it, out loud. Over the years since, I’d kind of convinced myself that it was my overactive imagination. Then when your boss said about the rare blood disorder, I started wondering again. But, you know, I wasn’t going to make it into a big deal when you obviously didn’t want to talk about it, so thanks for telling me. I’ll only bring it up with your father if there’s no other option."

"Well, he never openly acknowledges that I’m a vampire... but doesn’t it _bother_ you?"

"It is kind of weird to finally know for sure after all these years. But it’s not like you can bite me in your current state, and you never did anything in all those years we lived together, so I figure I’m pretty safe. Plus, you only ever eat rats and stuff right?"

It doesn’t hurt to be sure about these things.

"Yeah, well, I get blood from the butcher these days, my father would kill me if I ever bit a person, I mean I never would anyway, but…"

"Exactly. It’s not like I don’t like a rare steak myself; I can’t see there’s much difference really."

Baz just shakes his head (in disbelief?) and goes back to looking out of the window. I concentrate on getting us to his parents’ house. Every scenario I could have thought up over the last week or so, did not culminate with a vampire ghost and a dragon boy, squashed into a Mini on a mercy mission across the South Downs. My wings are cramped, but I can’t get out and stretch them as there’s been no one to spell them invisible this morning. They’re massive; red and black, wide and leathery with grey spikes at the hinges. Whilst people can’t see Baz, anyone could look in and see me as they pass. Stopping at a service station feels out of the question.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Snow. Just tell people you’ve been to a party," Baz says when I complain.

"What kind of party?"

He gives me a withering look.

"Right. Fancy dress," I nod. "Of course. It’s just, they’re not exactly subtle are they? I mean if we were in London, or Brighton, maybe. But rural Sussex on a Saturday morning, I’m not so sure."

"I’m sure Daphne will do the robot spell of Bunce’s for you, if you ask. We’ll be there in about an hour and a half."

"Exactly, that’s ages! It’s alright for you, you don’t have any bodily functions to worry about."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Oh come on, Baz. You know I didn’t mean it like that," I say pulling my fingers through my curls. "It’s just I’d kill for a cup of tea and a sandwich."

He makes a noise that might have been a "harrumph."

I’m beginning to feel the lack of sleep, so I wind the window down and take deep gulps of air in an attempt to keep me awake. I can’t decide which is worse; my need for sleep or the hunger cramps in my stomach.

In the end, we pull in to a drive through. It’s really quiet and there’s no one else around. When I get to the window to collect my order, the skinny, teenage boy hardly gives me a second glance. His phone is propped up on the till and he’s watching something on YouTube.

"That’s four ninety nine," he drones.

_"See? He doesn’t give a shit, Snow. I told you, you didn’t need to worry. He’s far more interested in watching that man play video games than in who his customer is."_

I hand the guy a fiver and grab the bag.

"Sugar or milk?" he asks, in the same monotonous voice.

"Um… just milk please mate."

He passes the tea out on one of those cardboard tray things, a handful of milks on the side.

"Have a safe trip, Sir."

And he’s back to watching YouTube and chewing on his gum before I’ve even wound my window back up.

"Cheers," I mumble.

 

Vera’s eyes open wide when she sees me standing on the doorstep again, but she ushers me in. She doesn’t mention the wings; she must get paid to pretend she doesn’t notice anything around here. As I stand in the vast hallway waiting for Baz’s father, Baz strides back and forth across the room, coming in and out of my sight. It’s not helping my nerves, but I don’t say anything. I hear Mr Grimm, before I see him, the sound of hard-soled shoes on wooden floorboards growing louder as he approaches. They stop abruptly when he stands in the doorway, giving me a cool appraisal. I shuffle awkwardly almost wringing my tail in both hands against my stomach, to stop it flailing around. 

"Mr Snow," he sneers. "Daphne said you’d called round to enquire after Basilton’s health, but I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon."

He’s dressed very expensively, not quite a suit, but way posher than you would expect for a Saturday morning. He’s slightly taller and broader than Baz, and though they don’t look that much alike, (apart from their hair – thick and silky, with a bit of a wave, the same widow’s peak too, only Mr Grimm’s hair is white, not raven), they carry themselves in the same way; both masters of the blank expression that gives you no clue about what they might be thinking. You could almost believe that he doesn’t care that his son is in a coma and about to be switched off.

I must be staring because he clears his throat.

"I’m sorry, I know you were roommates at school, but I was led to believe that you had severed contact with each other. How did you get in touch again?"

"Umm…"

_"Say you bumped into me at the hospital when you were visiting a friend or something."_

"At the hospital. I was visiting with a friend of mine. Her grandmother was in, recovering from an operation on her hip, and I’d come with her. I… I went to get some coffees from the machine and when I turned round, I literally bumped into Baz. He was really mad because I spilt coffee down his clean white coat and…"

"Why are you telling me all this?" He asks sounding bored.

"Y… you asked."

"I know, but why are you here? You were nothing to him. What does our family business have to do with you?"

You were nothing to him; his words are knives, reopening my scars. My shoulders slump and I look over to Baz, who stops pacing briefly to say, _"Don’t let him intimidate you, Snow. I know how he works. Keep going."_

I adjust my stance and square my shoulders. "Because… I know about Baz’s situation and I just wanted to say that there are sometimes things going on that are… beyond our understanding. I umm... wanted to ask you, actually I, I wanted to beg you to… to give him a little bit more time. You don’t have to do this - he’s going to pull through, I’m sure of it."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Is this part of some mad scheme of his aunt’s? If it is, it’s too late I’m afraid."

Too late?

"What do you mean?"

"I already signed the paperwork, Mr Snow."

Baz rushes to his father’s side.

_"Crowley, Father, I’m here, can’t you feel me? I’m right here"_

"We’re terminating life support tomorrow at noon, while the girls are at riding school," he says, looking up to the ceiling. "The last three months have been so hard on them, on this whole family."

It feels like his cool exterior is crumbling slightly. Maybe his family is the chink in his armour.

"I understand, I really do, but… think about his sisters, Sir, they’re going to miss him so much. I seriously believe that you’re making a mistake that you can never undo. You can’t just ‘ ** _As you were!_** ’ or **_‘Back to start!_** ’ if you change your mind and…"

"It’s for the best" he cuts in. "Not that it’s any of your business, but this is what Basilton wanted. I spent more than a quarter of a century thinking I knew what was best for him. How he should act, what he should do, even… who he should date. This is the last thing Basilton asked for and for the first time in my life, I’m going to respect his wishes."

He makes out that he is pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, but it’s kind of obvious that he’s trying to stop a tear spilling down his face.

 _"Oh, Father,"_ Baz sighs.

I need to act whilst he’s feeling sentimental.

"Look, this is going to sound really strange to you, but uh…"

" _Don’t, Snow._ "

I choose to ignore him; this could be my only chance.

"The truth is, Sir, Baz is here with us now. He came with me and he’s begging you to wait."

Baz sighs.

"Right next to me?" Mr Grimm says, perking up a bit.

I nod to where Baz is standing, a pained expression on his face.

"R…right there."

_"Snow, stop."_

"No, let me do this," I say to Baz.

I turn back to Mr Grimm. "Look, I don’t know how or why, but somehow I can see your son’s spirit. I know it’s crazy, but I can also talk to him. So why don’t I let him explain the whole thing to you and I’ll like, translate."

"Daddy?" One of the littluns is looking through the door.

"Could you just hold on a moment?" He says to me.

"Yeah, of course."

Mr Grim walks calmly over to where the small girl is standing and crouches down in front of her. He’s talking to her in a low voice.

Baz looks excited, _"Okay, so this could work, but you clearly need to get him to the hospital straight away and get him to rip up those papers"_

"Get him to the hospital, rip up the papers," I repeat.

The door clicks as Baz’s father shuts it firmly. Then he turns round and suddenly he’s bearing down on us his wand raised.

"Right, you are going to leave here now before you upset my wife and children. They don’t need to hear your nonsense, for Crowley’s sake, they’ve been through enough."

I’m so shocked I take a couple of steps backwards, my hands raised, palms forwards, in self-defence.

"I… I’m not making this up, why would I?"

I glance at Baz who looks quite shaken.

_"Simon, leave, he’s not messing about."_

"No, he needs to listen," I say to him. “We’re running out of time.”

"I know he’s a vampire!" I shout, desperately at Mr Grimm.

He lowers his wand for a split second, but it goes back up as I continue, "How would I know that if he hadn’t told me himself? Please believe me."

His face is a mask again.

"How dare you come to my house with such slander – Basilton has a rare blood disorder and requires regular transfusions. How can you be so cruel? What if one of his sisters or his mother heard? Now I wish you to leave my house and this time do not come back. If I see or hear you anywhere near my son, I will not hesitate to spell you innocent again!"

Baz bends double, grabbing his head, like he’s got a migraine.

 _"Simon, just go, now!"_ he yells, getting in between me and his father.

Honestly, it’s a futile gesture, but I appreciate the sentiment.  I fling myself out through the front door and back into the Mini.

That didn’t exactly go to plan.

 

 

"I don’t think your Father is a very spiritual person," I say, once we’re back on the main road.

"He’s just trying to keep the rest of his family safe," Baz sighs.

"And I suppose he’s unlikely to trust me, seeing as I was the Mage’s heir and your enemy for all those years," I concede.

My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel and I keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Baz’s hand floats just above my arm and I fool myself that I can almost feel it.

"I didn’t really hate you, Snow," he says softly.

"You did a good job of pretending that you did," I huff half-heartedly.

I can’t bring myself to look at him.

"We were just kids on different sides of a war that was not of our making - pulled in opposite directions by people we trusted."

I don’t know what to say to that, or even what I’m supposed to be feeling.

We’re both quiet for a while. I wonder at what he said. Could we have been friends under different circumstances? I’d like to think that the last few days have proved that we could.

I switch the radio on. Penny’s mum must have been using the car as it’s not on our usual station. Robert Smith’s distinctive vocals spiral out from the speakers and they fit the mood perfectly, so I don’t bother fiddling with the settings.

"I think I’d have liked to have got to known my little sisters better," Baz says, as the song finishes. "I’ve been so busy at work and they’ve grown up so quickly. I should have been a better brother."

"I’m sure they think you’re a good one."

"Thanks," he says sadly. "But I guess we’ll never really know."

"Oh come on Baz, this can’t be it – we can go back to the hospital. I can talk to your friend, Sandra..."

"No, Simon, just stop. They’ll put you in a straitjacket - there’s no way anybody’s going to believe I’m here."

I think about all that we’ve been through since Baz first appeared in the flat, what seems like a lifetime ago. When I just wanted him gone.

"Wait, there is someone," I say, slamming my hand on the steering wheel in excitement.

"What do you mean? Who?"

I turn to him and grin, "We’re going to see a woman about a book."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from This is Gospel, but Panic! at the Disco  
> Thank you for your continued support. I'm on half term this week, so I should get another chapter out in the next couple of days!


	11. Caught in a photograph

We drop the car back at Penny’s parents’ and get my wings sorted, then head back to Kew. As we enter the bookshop, Hazel looks up from reading a thick leather bound book.

"Hello, Simon," she says, taking her glasses off and letting them drop on their chain round her neck. "I was just thinking about y… Oh wow, the spirit’s with you isn’t he? I’m not sure you should be bringing him in here, though."

Baz rolls his eyes dramatically, _"Crowley, what does she think I’m going to do? Go all poltergeist on her and start throwing her books around?"_

"Morgana, I’ve upset him haven’t I? Sorry dear," she says roughly in Baz’s direction.

There isn’t really time for this.

"It’s fine, he’ll get over it. So listen, Hazel, you were right about him, he’s alive," I say.

"That’s wonderful news," she smiles, resting her elbows on the desk and placing her fingertips together.

"But he’s in a coma and his family’s going to take him off life support tomorrow."

She blinks a few times and her smile drops. "And I take it from your current state of agitation that you’re not happy about that. You don’t want him to leave now, do you?"

I guess you don’t need to be a psychic to work that one out.

"I’ve um… got used to being around him again."

"Yes, I can tell - I’m sensing a real flow of positive energy between the pair of you," she says, closing her eyes. "In fact… those are some very intense feelings he has for you, Simon."

Baz’s eyes go wide, then he forces his face into a sneer whilst mine flushes hot and red.

 _"I most certainly do not,"_ he splutters.

Hazel clasps her hands together and pulls them in towards her chest, laughing softly.

"Ooh major red aura, somebody’s embarrassed."

_"I take back what I said about her last week. She’s obviously a charlatan."_

"Okay…" I say.

I’m not sure this could be any more awkward.

 _"Can we focus here? Ask her if there’s a spell…"_ Baz says, and suddenly we’re talking over each other in a rush to ask Hazel for her advice.

"So, what I was wondering, was whether you know of a spell, or a charm or…"

_"…electric shock…?"_

"… anything to get his spirt back in his body."

Hazel’s watery blue eyes narrow slightly. She picks up her glasses and huffs on them, before starting to clean them with her floaty scarf.

"You’re asking the wrong questions, dear."

 _"It’s like being back at school,"_ Baz scoffs and I shoot him a look.

He’s pretending to be bored, but I can tell he’s listening intently.

"Why is that wrong?"

"Look, Simon, I have a gift. I didn’t ask for it, but that’s the way it is. I can sense these spirits or entities or whatever you want to call them, but I can’t hear them or fix them. Why do they hang about here in the first place? My best guess is it’s to do with their unfinished business. Find out what that is, and in my experience, problem solved."

"So, do I have the gift?"

She pops her glasses back on and picks up her book again.

"No, dear. You definitely don’t have it. You’re basically a normal, aren’t you?"

I realise I’m clenching my fists in frustration inside the pockets of my hoodie.

"But if I don’t have it, how’s it that I can see him and talk to him when no one else can?"

"Exactly," she says, and starts reading again.

Apparently that means our conversation is over. I just want to know what to do!

"Exactly what?" I say, planting my palms on the desk in front of her.

"Now you’re asking the right questions," she nods.

 

　

I stomp up the stairs to the flat and unlock the door.

"What the hell was she talking about?" I groan, chucking the keys on the kitchen worktop. "Merlin, I feel like it’s right there in front of us, I just can’t my head around it."

"How do you solve a problem that isn’t possible in the first place?" Baz says.

"Because nothing seems impossible to me anymore." I flop onto the sofa. "I mean, how did I end up being the one to move into your flat in the first place? Why can I see you when no one else can? Why were we in that restaurant when that guy collapsed? It all seems interrelated somehow, but I can’t figure it out."

I get up again and start digging around in the bureau for the notes I made from Hazel’s books.

"What are you doing?"

"I don’t know, I feel like I missed something here."

I sit back down and stare at the page of scribbled notes, willing an answer to appear. I’ve got my hands in my hair, I try to remember if there was anything in the books about getting bodies and spirits reunited.

"Where did you get this?"

"Sorry, what?"

I look up to see Baz staring at a photo frame on the book shelf; it’s the photo of him and his aunt.

"It was in my bedroom at my parents’ house…" he says, sounding confused.

Oh God, he’s going to think I’m some kind of stalker.

"Yeah, I um… I took it. I’m sorry, I… I just… I wanted to have a picture of you. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see you again. I’m sorry."

"It’s fine. I usually destroy any photos of me, but I actually quite like this one."

He’s still staring at it, so I go and stand next to him and pick it up.

"Yeah, me too."

"I’d just got feedback on the first draft of my final dissertation."

"You must have done well," I say.

"No actually, I’d completely fucked up," he sighs bitterly. "My grade was so low, they sent a letter home because they were considering failing me."

I stare at him in disbelief.  I can't remember when Baz ever got less than perfect grades.

"And that was worth celebrating?"

"Obviously not, Snow. I wanted to go back to the library and start studying again and pretend it hadn’t happened. I don’t think my father ever would have mentioned it, he’d just expect me to deal with it. But somehow Fiona found out and drove down, and said I shouldn’t do any more studying right then, that the only thing to do was to bloody well burn my scores and get sozzled on pints of snakebite black." He smiles sadly, "Lots and lots of snakebite as it goes. Frankly I think it’s disgusting, but Fiona said that having a choice of alcoholic beverage was for people a) who were paying and b) who hadn’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties. She’s never tired of that one."

"Well, it looks like she was right," I say

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him looking as happy as he does in the photo – there’s not even a trace of his usual pout. His eyes look a bit droopy dog, but then they always have done, so the alcohol isn’t entirely to blame for that.

"It’s funny," he says quietly, "because the one time I completely failed at something, I had more fun than I’d ever had in my life."

He goes and looks out of the balcony doors, his hands in his pockets. I let him stand there for a while, brooding.

"Are you okay?" I ask eventually.

He draws a deep breath and turns back round, slumping to a seated position. He wraps his arms round his knees and rocks gently, like all his fight has gone. It scares me.

"It’s like, what was I doing with the rest of my time? You know," he says, resting his head on his arms. "I think about my life and I… all I can remember is working. Working and working and trying so hard, and for what? A great apartment, clothes, art, books… It’s all just stuff. I had no one to share it with. Maybe this is what I deserve."

His voice has been getting quieter and quieter and his hair has flopped forward round his face. I desperately want to tuck the loose strands behind his ear. I close the space between us and kneel down next to him, trying to look in his eyes.

"Hey…" I say softly, "Baz, look at me. You helped people, you saved lives."

When he finally meets my eyes, his are glistening grey pools.

"And… I saved mine… for later. I just… I never thought there wouldn’t be a later. Fuck, I’m really sorry you got caught up in all this. "

I can’t stand it. He’s so broken and I can’t even do or say anything to help.

"No, don’t say that, there’s still time okay… The crucible cast us together, I’m meant to watch out for you. I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now."

He lifts his head and lets out a ragged breath.

"You know, I just don’t want to spend my last night moping or fighting my fate. I want to spend it doing something with you."

I jump up, excited and start pacing the room.

"Okay. Okay, great. What do you want to do? You want to fly to Paris, go up the Eiffel tower? No problem. Dance on a beach in Bali? Go back to Watford and spit on the Merwolves? Anywhere, come on let’s do it. Anywhere around the world… that… will take a credit card, that is."

Baz laughs softly – Merlin, I never want to stop hearing that sound.

"You’re an idiot, Snow," he says shaking his head gently. "But there is something I’d like to do."

"Anything," my voice is husky with lack of sleep.

He stretches his legs out and looks down at his lap.

"Crowley, I’m so bad at this," he mumbles.

"What? What is it?"

I go and kneel next to him again.

"Baz?"

 

This?

This is what he wanted?

We’re lying facing each other on his huge bed, hardly a hair’s breadth between us, one of Baz’s playlists on quietly in the background. He insisted on me lighting all of the expensive candles I’d found last week and the room is gradually filling with the scent of home. It’s like we're surrounded by a myriad of fireflies from their reflection in the ornate mirror and all the framed artwork. I gaze at his familiar face, watching how the light dances in his eyes and bathes his skin with a soft golden glow. It’s like I can finally really see him. The only time I ever came close to this at Watford, was if I woke up before him on those light summer mornings. I would stare at him and wonder what it would be like to have a roommate who didn’t have a permanent sneer on his waking face.

It all finally makes sense, my obsession that is. Spending time with him this past week has brought back so many memories I thought I’d dealt with. Some fucking counsellor, magick or otherwise. All those years of therapy and the hints at why I couldn’t let Baz go, get him out of my system. To be fair, they may have tried to suggest it at first, but I was in total denial. All I felt was hate – he was a bully and a snob. Even years later, I hadn't been able to admit to myself what my obsession had been about. It was frozen in time, like some lesser-known Damien Hirst installation. Every feeling I had about him was tied up with the Families and the Humdrum and the Mage and losing my magic. I could never unpick it.

It’s only now, when I’m probably going to lose him for good that I’ve finally worked out what the hell was going on.

Baz always said I was stupid.

Trust him to be fucking right.

 

"Are you nervous?" I ask.

I know he was brought up not to really talk about his feelings, stiff upper lip and all that crap, but it seems like he’s gradually been shedding some of his habits over the last few days, so I risk it.

"A little," he admits.

"Why?"

He closes his eyes.

"I don’t know."

We’re whispering as Nick Cave plays softly. It feels so intimate I almost can’t stand it. I just want to grab his face and crush my lips to his.

"How can you be nervous when I can’t even kiss you?"

His eyes shoot back open, he licks his lower lip and swallows. "You... you want to kiss me?"

"Merlin, Baz. What do you think?"

"I think I’m more nervous now."

"Why?"

"When we were in my bedroom in Hampshire, remember you touched my hand? I felt it, or my spirit felt it or something. I don’t know how. But I think if you could ever really kiss me, I might wake up from all of this."

He inches closer so that our foreheads are touching and looks up into my eyes.

"I think I know what my unfinished business is, Simon."

"What?" I breathe.

He moves his hand as if to stroke my face.

"You."

 

 

The sun is streaming through the open window in the morning when I wake up, the dust motes swirling in the breeze. I can’t remember when I last slept so well. Finally accepting my feelings for Baz, and knowing that they are reciprocated is better than any number of counselling sessions. From now on, finding a happy place? That will be last night, surrounded by the scent of cedar and bergamot, and talking into the small hours with Baz. He still found ways to make fun of me, but his defences were well and truly down. To think we could have had this all those years if we’d just been truthful with each other. With ourselves.

"Baz," I say drowsily, rolling over.

He’s not there.

I sit bolt upright.

"Baz!" I shout, panicked.

"I’m right here," he says calmly.

He’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, but gets up and moves over to the bed.

"Oh good, good, I thought you were gone."

"Not yet."

I kneel up beside him and can feel the excitement building in me.

It’s going to be all right, I know it.

"So there’s something I’ve figured out I’m supposed to do."

Baz narrows his eyes, frowning slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when you first turned up in my flat…"

"My flat, I think you’ll find, Snow."

"Whatever, just listen will you. Remember I kept saying that you were dead? Actually, it was me that was dead. And you, you brought me back. You saved me, and now it’s my turn to save you."

I can tell he thinks I’ve lost it. He raises an eyebrow, "How?"

"I’m going to steal your body."

"What?"

I don’t stop to explain, but rush to the kitchen and grab the keys from where I’d abandoned them last night. I slam the door and take the stairs two at a time in my hurry. Fuck who sees my wings right now. Baz is waiting for me outside the flat.

"Snow, stop! What are you thinking? You can’t do this!"

I spin round to face him.

"Why can’t I?"

"Because you’ll get arrested, you could end up in prison."

"So what? If something happens to you, do you think I’ll care where I’ll be? At least this will buy us a little more time."

I’m fiddling with the lock on my bike and Baz has started his pacing again.

"The things that you would have to know to even start to pull this off," he says.

"You know all of them. You’ll talk me through it."

He’s decent enough not to argue with me.

"Okay," he sighs. "You’re going to need a van, and somebody with no morals."

"Gareth’s got a van, and everyone knows his morals are pretty loose."

"I said no morals," but he’s grinning now, like he has a plan. "You get the van, and leave the rest to me."

"Baz… who do you have in mind?"

"Remember my aunt, Fiona? Even my father assumed she was in on this. She’s fucking badass, if anyone can pull this off, it’ll be her."

Great. Time for yet another roasting at the hands of one of Baz’s family.

Still, right now, she’s our only hope.

"I just hope she’s not hung over," he smirks.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Seventeen by Tors. It’s a beautiful song and it’s on my playlist “Snowbaz just like heaven” on Spotify https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PzhW5Addt5nwILmpquGHn
> 
> Damien Hirst artist: http://www.damienhirst.com/artworks/catalogue


	12. Sunday morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon text in bold, Gareth in normal font

(09.16) **Hi mate any chance I can borrow your van?**

(09.17) Not moving out again already?

(09.17) **Nah just need to move some stuff for Penny’s parents**.

(09.17) Ok, bud when do you need it?

(09.18) **I’m outside now**

(09.18) Bit previous aren’t you?

(09.18) **Sorry emergency**

 

"Not being funny, but what the hell do Penny’s parents need to move in such a hurry?" Gareth says as he hands me the keys. "You’re not like, disposing of dead bodies are you?"

"I um, that is…" I stammer, and I must go bright red, because he laughs his head off.

"It’s alright, Si. To be honest, you don’t have to tell me what you’re up to. As long as you’re not moving anything gomping in it. Just bring it back in one piece, no questions asked, yeah?"

"Cheers, Gareth."

He shakes his head, still chuckling to himself. "Yeah, alright bud, see you in a bit, like."

 

As we drive to Fiona’s flat, Baz fills me in on what I need to know.

"She hasn’t changed much since you last saw her. She’s been living in Prague on and off, mostly off family money and magic with a bit of vampire hunting and dating Normals in between. She’s probably going to be pretty pissed off when she sees you though, she still blames anything and everything on the Mage and thereby you by association."

"The Mage has been dead for just over eight years and I was the one who did it. How much more can she want? "

"In her eyes that just makes you doubly culpable – the Mage’s heir and a betrayer. Don’t underestimate how vindictive she is."

"But I didn’t mean to kill the Mage…"

"Relax, Snow. Fiona just thinks that she’s punk, she likes to rage against the machine, but her bark is far worse than her bite. The best way to get her onside is to make her feel like she’s getting one over on my Father. If you can convince her that by letting him switch me off, she’d be letting him take away the last remaining Pitch pride, you’ll have her eating out of your palm."

 _"If_ being the operative word," I huff. "And so we’re back to me making an idiot of myself in front of your family, and being threatened with a magickal straitjacket. Just great."

I give him a sarcastic smirk with a double thumbs up.

"Hands on the wheel, Snow. You drive like a numpty at the best of times and I’d rather prefer it you didn’t cause an accident and end up in a coma too."

I roll my eyes. We’re sitting still at a traffic light, I hardly think we’re in imminent danger.

 

Fiona’s block of flats isn’t anywhere near as posh as Baz’s, but it’s still way nicer that anywhere I could normally afford. Lucky for us, someone is just leaving as we get there, so we can get into the building without having any awkward conversations over the intercom. I could have told which was flat was Fiona’s even without Baz being there; the door is painted black and loud music is emanating from inside. There’s a stack of Guardian newspapers and a load of wine bottles and foil take-out containers in a green plastic box outside the door on their way down to the recycling.

I have to knock several times before Morrissey’s voice quietens and heavy footsteps approach the other side of the door. There’s a pause where she’s probably looking though the spyhole, then the door is practically yanked off its hinges.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Fiona," I say.

Baz was right, she hasn’t changed that much. Her hair is as mad as ever with its great white streak and she’s still got that nineties vibe going on, with her Doc Martens, black jeans and a Ramones t-shirt. She’s got a purple dressing gown on over the top, like some oversized, fluffy cardigan. Right now, she’s standing holding the door in her left hand, (ready to slam it in my face) and a lit cigarette in her right. She takes a long drag, then blows the smoke upwards and to the side, the whole time staring at me with unblinking eyes.

"Well? What the fuck do you want Mageling?" She sneers, looking me up and down. (Obviously a family trait). "Malcolm said you’d been making a nuisance of yourself up at the house. Jesus Christ, look at the state of you."

My wings twitch involuntarily under her scrutiny. I squeeze my fists tight, nails cutting into my palms, and take a deep breath. I consider putting my foot in the door to stop her slamming it shut on me, but I’ll only do that if I have to. Baz is standing right next to me and gives me an ‘encouraging’ glare.

I clear my throat; I’ve got this.

"I know that you’re going through a difficult time right now, and seeing me on your doorstep is probably not what you expected..."

"Actually, it’s _exactly_ what I expected," she says, jabbing her cigarette at me. "Basil always said you used to follow him obsessively. We thought we’d cured you of that, but seeing as you’re back on the scene, it makes perfect sense that you’d be sniffing round again. I didn’t expect you to be on your own though, where’s your sidekick?"

_"Just ignore her digs, Snow. She’s smart, powerful and vindictive, we need to use that against my Father."_

"I… I’ve got a plan to save Baz, but I’m going to need your help. Please. Just hear me out will you?"

"Talk all you like, it doesn’t matter anymore, boyo. They’re pulling the plug in a couple of hours. There’s nothing you or I can do now."

"And you’re giving in just like that? Baz said you were badass, that you were full of Pitch pride. Are you really just going to let them pull the plug on your sister's son, the last of the Pitch heirs?"

"I don’t have any bloody say in it. And anyway, Malcolm said it was Basil’s wish. I'm not going to go against that."

"But what if I could prove to you that it’s not what Baz wants?"

"Jesus Christ, Mageling…"

"It’s Simon."

"Whatever. Listen, I don’t know if you're trying to be cruel or you’re just stupid. There's no way you could do that, or get Malcom to do your bidding. You’d have to be some kind of miracle worker."

"I don’t know what Mr Grimm told you…"

"He said you’d come around with some fucked up story about being able to talk to Baz’s spirit, like some imaginary friend."

"Yeah, well, my imaginary friend is not imaginary. It really _is_ Baz’s spirit and they are going to take him off life support in a couple of hours, so you’ve got to help me get his body someplace safe."

She narrows her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really," I say emphatically.

She takes another drag on her cigarette and blows it out. She uses the thumb on her cigarette hand to worry the skin round the nail on her ring finger. Is she deliberately trying to look like she’s unbothered? Bloody Pitch’s; it’s impossible to tell when they’re up to something and when they’re just thinking about something you've said.

"I knew we shouldn’t have come here," I say to Baz.

_"You’ve got to play to her vanity."_

"Yeah, well she obviously hasn’t got the stomach for a showdown. She’d rather just hide in her flat drinking tea, and smoking in her dressing gown. I knew she wasn’t badass like you claimed. She’s just old and bitter. Come on, let’s just go and do something cool with your last few hours."

Fiona looks furious.

"How about you let me make _you_ a cup of tea and we can call the magickal psychiatrist?" She hisses. "Better still, I can spell you innocent like we did before and then you can leave us all in peace to grieve."

"What? What does she mean, Baz?"

_"It’s what Father used to do it to Vera when it all got too much for her. You know, **forgive and forget**? But Snow, we’re running out of time – we can ask her later."_

He’s right, it’s already nearly ten.

_"Okay, so tell her I know this is a stretch for her, but that if she helps, I’ll give her my original limited edition Velvet Underground vinyl, the one with the banana sticker on the front. She'll know it's one of my prize possessions, she's had her eyes on it for years."_

"Baz is standing right here. He says he knows what a stretch this is for you, but that you can have his Velvet Underground album with the banana sticker if you help me."

She raises her eyebrows at that, her interest piqued.

"Oh does he?"

"Yes!"

Come on Fiona, please, please believe me.

She reaches over to the side and stubbs her cigarette out in an astray on a narrow hall table, then puts her hands behind her back.

"Well if he’s really sodding well here, ask what I’m doing with my hand, rock, paper or scissors?"

Baz smirks and nips into the flat behind her.

_"Rock."_

"Rock," I repeat.

_"Scissors."_

"Scissors."

_"Paper."_

"Paper."

Fiona is looking a little surprised now.

_"Rock again."_

"Rock again."

 _"She’s flipping me off,"_ Baz laughs.

"Are you flipping him off? Your own nephew?"

"He's a scheming brat," she says, twisting her head over her shoulder, trying to work out how I'm doing this. "Obviously I'm not saying I believe you. No offence, you’re a bit of a wreck, but I mean, I have heard that people with emotional and mental disorders can have psychic moments, so it's possible that you're telling the truth.  Thing is boyo, even if he is real, it’s going to be hard to get him out of Malcolm’s clutches. Do you fully understand what you’re risking for him?"

I draw myself up to my full height and square my shoulders. "Of course I do."

"Well, you’ve got more balls than I gave you credit for. But I still don’t get why you’d risk this for an old roommate who didn’t even like you."

Baz looks embarrassed. _"That's not strictly true, Snow."_

What’s the point of holding back. He could be dead in a couple of hours and I’d have never told him how I feel.

"Because I love him," I say. "I think I have for a long time. It's just I only came to realise it recently."

Baz lets out something that sounds like a muffled squawk.

"I do," I say, looking him straight in the eye. "I love you."

He seems to almost stumble and puts his hands to his mouth, eyes wide with surprise.

_"No one’s ever said that to me before."_

I shoot him a lopsided grin, Fiona just looks bemused.

"Soft bastard," she says. "Come on then Prince bloody charming, let’s go and wake sleeping beauty."

I punch the air in excitement. I’m still floating from the rush of telling Baz how I feel and it takes me a few seconds to realise she’s dumped the dressing gown and donned a black leather jacket.

"Jesus Christ, Mageling," she says as she locks the door. " What are you getting me into?"

"It’s Simon," I say.

But I don’t make too much of a fuss; I don’t want her to change her mind about helping. As it goes, she casts a **_These aren’t the droids you’re looking for_** on me before we leave the building, then continues to berate me about my choice of attire all the way to the van. I can tell she’s half disgusted to be going anywhere with the Mage’s heir, half relieved to be doing something productive. She grumbles impatiently as I fumble in my pockets for the key, which she proceeds to grab off me, nodding her head to the passenger side.

"Right then, get in you manipulative cur," she huffs, shaking her head. "I’m driving. We need to put the pedal to the metal."

She points her wand at the radio casting, **_we will rock you_** and pulls out into the streets of Sunday morning suburbia with a screech of tyres, music blaring.

Baz was right, she is pretty badass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title Sunday Morning by the Velvet Underground.


	13. I let my guard down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I can't believe this is the penultimate chapter. Thank you so much for all your support, kudos and comments. Every single one really makes my day. This has been such a fun project to work on.
> 
> I’m back to school on Monday, so the last chapter probably won’t be ready until the weekend. Sorry 😐

Gareth’s van skids to a halt on the gravel drive outside the house of Grimm. If this were a Tarantino movie, the bit where Fiona and I get out of the van would be in slow motion. We’d look cool as fuck as we grabbed backpacks and guns, slammed the van doors and strode towards the house, coats trailing behind us before kicking the door down, demanding they hand Baz over to us. Plus it would all be set to some edgy soundtrack.

Like I say, if it were a movie. As it is, I struggle to get the van door open, then get caught in the seatbelt, fall out of the van and end up sprawled on the ground. I roll over, groaning and look up to see Fiona looming over me, a smirk on her face. She kicks me, just for fun it seems.

"Get up you bloody numpty, you haven’t got time for a nap."

 _"Yeah, get up you absolute nightmare,"_ Baz adds for good measure. " _I’d lend you a hand, but, you know…"_ he gestures to himself. _"There are obviously some major drawbacks to my lack of corporeality."_

"Fuck off the pair of you," I huff.

"Basilton giving you a hard time too, is he?" Fiona grins; she’s bloody loving this. "Good man."

She pulls a soft pack of Marlboros out of her jacket pocket and lifts it to her mouth, extracts a cigarette with her lips, lights it with her wand and takes a good few drags, before dropping it on the gravel. At least one of us is worthy of a Tarantino soundtrack. I seem to be stuck in some tragic Rom-Com.

I scramble to my feet and open the doors at the back of the van.

"Jesus Christ, Snow, what the hell is that?" Fiona says as she comes and stands next to me, peering in at my makeshift gurney.

I’d appropriated one of the gardening trolleys from work (the crimes just keep stacking up) and managed to fix one of the Bunce’s camp beds to it with a whole reel of duct tape. I was quite proud of my resourcefulness.

Fiona is practically pissing herself.

"Baz always said you were the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen," she says wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Fuck me, Snow. When this is over we’ll have a good laugh at this."

"Yeah, well, you try getting any proper hospital equipment on a Sunday morning," I sulk.

 _"Don’t worry, Snow. I appreciate your efforts,"_ Baz smirks.

"Thank you."

Fiona, despite her reputation, decides it would be best if we avoided a confrontation at this point, so we push the trolley round the back of the house until we are underneath Baz’s bedroom window. (Actually, I should have remembered that Fiona is good at sneaking as well kicking the shit out of things, from the twice I caught her sneaking into the Mage’s offices back at Watford.) We let ourselves in the back door, and creep upstairs, Baz leading the way to check the coast is clear. Once in his room, I open the huge window and Fiona **_Up, up and aways_** the trolley as we guide it into the bedroom.

Baz checks the clipboard and then looks serious.

" _Right. You’re going to have to get me on the gurney as quickly as you can. But be careful to keep me attached to all these monitors."_

"Okay boyo, you’d better be telling the truth about all this," Fiona says, moving towards the bed.

_"Simon, tell her thank you."_

"We’re really grateful, Fiona."

Fiona shrugs.

"I’m not doing it for you."

"Okay, then why are you doing it?"

"Because someday, trust me, I’m going to need help moving a body and when that day comes, I don’t want to hear any shit from you."

I’m not sure that she’s joking.

She strokes Baz’s hair; it’s strange seeing such a soft gesture from her. Her face is still fierce, but her eyes are extra shiny.

"Fuck, Baz," she says roughly. "Why the hell weren’t you paying attention to the road? Always drove too fast didn’t you, you cocky bastard."

I move to the other side of the bed and she looks up at me.

"How long have you loved him?"

"I… I’m not sure. If you’d asked me at school, I would have said that I didn’t. He certainly left an impression..."

She’s got a strange expression on her face.

_"Wait, I know that look. Ask her what it is."_

"Baz wants to know what that look means."

She moves to the window, taking out her cigarettes. I follow her and put my hand on her arm, to stop her lighting up in what is basically a hospital room.

"Fiona?"

"He didn’t want you to be together," she sighs, staring out over the well-manicured garden.

"Who didn’t? Baz?"

"No, Malcolm. He said if Baz was going to insist on being gay, it would at least be with someone from a good family."

_"What?"_

"But… I don’t understand. I mean, we had a truce whilst I helped him find his mother’s killer and we defeated the Humdrum, but we weren’t _together_. I lost my magic and left Watford after that, so what was his problem?"

_"Believe me, my father doesn’t need much where I’m concerned, for it to be considered a problem."_

"You seriously don’t remember anything at all from that Christmas?"

"What do you mean? I just told you, Baz, Penny and I worked together and…" I still hate talking about it. "I… got rid of the Humdrum and…I um… accidently killed the Mage."

She snorts at that, but then says, "So you don’t remember being here at all, before last week that is?"

"N..no?" I say, but it comes out more of a question.

_"Fiona? What the fuck are you talking about? Spit it out!"_

"Baz says to spit it out, whatever it is you’re hiding."

She turns away from the garden, slipping her wand out from the sleeve of her leather jacket. I take a step back, unsure of what she’s about to do.

"I guess it will be a moot point in half an hour if your plan doesn’t work out," she says, raising her wand. " ** _Don’t you forget about me!"_** she casts and her voice is dripping magic.

Nothing happens.

I look at Baz, lying in the bed; the monitor continues to beep steadily.

 _"It only works if it’s cast by the same person who cast the **Forgive and forget** in the first place,"_ Baz says. _"Something which my father is master of, so it would seem."_

"It didn’t work, Fiona," I say. "You’re just going to have to tell me."

"Haven’t you worked it out yet? Jesus Christ, you really are bloody thick aren’t you?" She sighs, exasperated. "You came here on that Christmas Eve. Turned up on the doorstep in the snow, like a lost dog, with some bit of information to do with your hare-brained plans to get you and your friends killed. You ended up staying over Christmas."

"I… I stayed here? For Christmas?"

This is so weird. I’m not even getting an inkling of a memory.

"Yes. And fuck knows how, but somehow in less than forty eight hours you and Baz managed to set fire to a vast area of ancient forest, create the biggest known hole in the magickal atmosphere over Hampshire, defeat the Humdrum, kill the Mage and oh, find time to fit in a load of snogging to boot."

"What? But that’s… mad…"

"Yeah, pretty impressive. How did you think you ended up with those ridiculous wings? You flew all the way back from Hampshire, to get away from the Grimms, who were convinced you’d done it all on purpose. I’m still not entirely sure it wasn’t part of the fucking Mage’s plan, but there you go. Anyway, when they came to pick Baz up from school, you were just clinging to his arm. They had to practically prise you off. The families were still fuming at that point, so Malcolm just did what he thought was for the best."

 _"The best for who?"_ Baz is right up in Fiona’s face. _"Where is he? I’m going to kill him!"_

"Baz, calm down, it’s okay. We know now. Everything is going to be all right."

Baz shakes his head to clear his thoughts, then looks up at me, like something has just occurred to him.

_"Crowley, do you think that this is what caused the dark aura Professor Trelawney was on about? The thing that was locked away inside you?"_

I narrow my eyes at him. "You do know she’s not really called Professor Trelawney don’t you?"

He rolls his eyes in answer.

"But yes, I reckon you’re right. Merlin, Baz, it’s just so weird to know that I’ve loved you all this time, without even remembering it."

He’s laughing now.

_"Well, I loved you for nearly eight years at Watford, I guess that makes us equal."_

"You did? What, even when you set the chimera on me? And when you pushed me down the stairs?"

_"Well, I was still… processing my feelings at that point, but basically, yes."_

"Prick," I laugh.

"What are you bloody laughing at?" Fiona asks. "Jesus, he really is there, isn’t he?"

I roll my eyes, still smiling at Baz.

"What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you for the last few hours?"

"Right, well in that case, what are we standing around gassing for? Let’s get him on the gurney. I don’t want them killing my favourite nephew."

_"I’m her only nephew."_

"Thank you, finally, come on!" I say, pulling back the blankets.

 _"Okay, now be really gentle,"_ Baz warns. _"You don’t want anything becoming disconnected."_

We lift him carefully onto the makeshift gurney, cover him with a blanket and strap him in. Fiona casts a **_Stand your ground_** on him just to be sure. We are just wheeling him over to the window, when a mobile phone rings on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I’m here already," a male voice answers.

It must be the doctor.

"Why are they here already?" I hiss.

Fiona shrugs in that ‘fuck if I know’ way of hers.

"I think he’s coming in."

There’s a spare white coat hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I throw it on and open the door, with as much authority as I can muster. There’s a doctor standing in the hallway, just finishing a call. He puts his phone away and looks at me quizzically.

_"That’s Doctor Rushton, be careful, Simon, he’s really smart."_

"Dr Rushton?" I reach out to shake his hand.

_"You need to buy time. Tell him you’re a doctor."_

"I’m a doctor," I say, knowing it sounds lame.

 _"You’re a special consultant…_ " Baz says and I just start repeating whatever he says again.

"I’m a um… special consultant form Magickorp Insurance, Dr Walsh sent me over for a final evaluation."

Dr Rushton frowns.

"I’ve had no verbal or written instructions to that effect," he says, suspicion evident in his voice.

Baz looks determined.

_"Tell him there’s new evidence to support…"_

"…the fact that full functionality can be restored. We need to run some tests."

"Who’s ‘We’?" Dr Rushton demands?

_"Tell him your team is on its way."_

"My team is on its way with a signed order from Doctor Walsh."

"This is the first I’ve heard of this, you won’t mind if I talk to him will you?"

"Oh, no. Go ahead, go down and confirm with him. I’ll wait here."

He gets his mobile out. "I’ll just call him."

We kind of look at each other politely whilst the phone is ringing. I’m out of ideas, so I just thump him and then he’s down on the floor.

_"Simon!"_

"Nice right hook, Mageling." Fiona all but high five’s me.

"Come on," I call rushing back over to where we’ve left Baz.

Fiona gets her wand out and **_Up, up and aways_** the makeshift gurney again, this time along with Baz and all the attachments, and manoeuvres them out of the window and safely to the ground.

 _"Crowley, be careful,"_ Baz fusses.

We thunder down the stairs and have nearly made it back to Baz when his father and several doctors come rushing out of the house, looking left and right. We grab the gurney and start running it to the van, glad of Fiona’s spell holding poor Baz in place as it bumps over the uneven surface.

"Over there," Dr Rushton shouts.

I look over my shoulder and see him standing on the doorstep dabbing at his nose with a bloodied handkerchief and pointing in our direction. The two junior doctors start rushing towards us.

"Take a right here, and get him in the van," Fiona orders, turning to face our assailants.

She trips one of them but the other one ducks under her arm and makes a grab for the gurney. I hear her cast **_Hit the floor!_** and I manage to pull it away. When I glance back to check it’s worked, he’s lying on the gravel, looking furiously at something he’s holding in his hand.

"Stop them," Baz’s father shouts.

Grounds staff and doctors seem to appear from nowhere and I spin the gurney this way and that trying to dodge everyone but suddenly I’m surrounded.

"Just stop will you," Dr Rushton calls.

"Wait, Mr Snow," a female voice calls. It’s Baz’s colleague, Sandra.

_"Simon…"_

Baz is standing gaping at his comatose body.  He looks stricken.

_"Crowley, Simon, my breathing tube is gone."_

I look over to where the doctor Fiona knocked down is now slowly standing up, the breathing tube in his hand. I’m trying not to panic, but I can feel it rising up inside.

"What? No! Tell me what can I do?"

 _"Nothing, it’s too late,"_ he says, looking down at himself. " _It’s happening. It’s strong"_

"No, be stronger," I plead.

_"It’s pulling me away."_

The monitor starts to beep slower and then flat lines. The sound of my worst nightmares.

"No! Stay with me."

I grasp at the blankets, picking up his hand; he’s so cold.

"Baz!"

I bend down and press my lips to his, gently at first, then more firmly, willing him to come back with every ounce of my being.

I look up at my Baz, who gasps and touches his lips, his eyes wide in surprize. A surge of hope flows through me, but is immediately quashed as Baz, my Baz, fades away.

The monitor continues to sound its high-pitched monotone. I press my face into Baz’s chest, wrapping my arms round him, trying to lift him to sitting.

"No, no, Baz, no! Please! Come back!" I sob, not caring who can see.

Suddenly, strong arms link through mine on each side and I’m dragged away from the gurney. I struggle to free myself.

"No, Baz! Help him! Fiona, why aren’t you doing anything?"

"Oh, Simon," she says, sadly.

"No, no, Baz!"

A couple more grounds staff have got my legs, but I keep straining to free myself. Malcolm and Daphne have arrived at Baz’s bedside now. Daphne falls to her knees and starts weeping softly. Malcolm rests a hand on her shoulder and turns towards me, stiff and proud. He looks like he’s about to say something when he stops, head to one side, listening.

The monitor has started beeping again, very slowly. Everyone looks around, confused, talking over each other in hushed whispers.

"What’s going on?"

"That’s not possible."

"That’s not possible."

The beeping continues, getting stronger and steadier.

Sandra rushes over to the gurney and picks up Baz's wrist, Daphne stands shakily, looking up at Malcolm.  He reaches out to take his son's other hand, bending down to stare at his face.

"Can you hear me Basilton?"

Everyone has stopped talking and is holding their breath to see what happens next. Baz coughs and moves his head towards the voice. Great snakes, he’s alive.

"Father?" he croaks.

"I’m here, son," he says, looking around at the doctors in amazement.

"I think I…" Baz starts, trying to sit up, but flopping back down in exhaustion.

Fiona comes over to where I’m still being held by four burly grounds staff.

"It’s okay," she says, nodding at them to release me.

I approach the gurney warily, heart in my mouth. Malcolm clearly doesn’t know what to say. He’s looking between me and Baz and Fiona, his air of indifference slipping for once in his life.

Baz looks at me and frowns slightly.

"Hey," I say softly, reaching down to take his hand. "How are you feeling?"

He curls his fingers in, to stop me touching him and turns his head towards Fiona.

"What... the fuck... is he doing here?"

"It’s Simon, don’t you remember?" She says.

"Crowley, I know who he is... " he manages to sneer, even in his exhaustion. "I just want to know... what the fuck he’s... doing here."

And just like that, my world comes crashing down.

"I… I’m sorry," I stammer, blood rushing in my ears.

I turn and start running down the driveway and I don’t look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi  
>  Spotify playlist of songs from the fic plus a few extras: https://open.spotify.com/user/cowshedvic/playlist/2PzhW5Addt5nwILmpquGHn?si=xtsGcFX_TZCGx9D8ZoulDw


	14. There's a vacancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay, so then there was this. It's been really difficult to write as you have all been so supportive and I don't want it to be an anti-climax...
> 
> Also *trigger warning* reference to self-harm

When I finally get home, I turn the shower on over the bath and stand under its pounding flow until my exhausted legs give out and I slide to down into the tub. My sodden curls are plastered to my face and I fumble blindly with the lever in an attempt to switch the water from the shower to the taps. I sit and wait for the bath to fill up around me.

I don’t know what to do.

I can’t cry. I can’t cry. I can’t cry. I can’t cry.

It’s only when I see the blood that I realise I’ve picked up my razor from the side and pushed my thumb down on the blade; I feel nothing. The razor drops to the floor and I suck the pad of my thumb, vaguely aware of the metallic taste.

I’m just so tired. So tired.

Closing my eyes, I lie down trying to get fully submerged in the warm water, but my stupid wings get in the way, so I sit back up, push my hair out of my face, and wrap my arms round my legs, resting my chin on my knees. My hair flops forward again, but I can’t be bothered to fight with it and leave it where it is. I stare glass-eyed through its tangled mess as the tap drips; each one a teardrop echoing in the silence of the flat and sending ripples across the surface of the bath water.

I don’t know how long I stay there, but it’s long enough for the water to have gone stone cold. Which I only realise when I’m shivering so hard that my wings are actually sloshing water out of the bath. I muster enough energy to unfold myself stiffly, get out, wrap a towel round my waist and crawl into the bed in the spare room. It’s the only place in the whole flat that isn’t full of memories. I just can’t face the other bed.

Not yet.

I curl up into a foetal position, the heels of my hands pushed into my eyes, trying to delete the images of Baz as they attempt to force their way through the door to my consciousness. I can’t allow myself to feel anything right now. If I let even the smallest part of my brain think about what has happened this past week, no amount of counselling will fix the cracks that will appear. I’ll just crumble. Merlin, if Hazel thought I had a dark aura before, then it’s pitch black now. In fact, there’s probably a black hole where my heart used to be.

So I shut it out.

I don’t think.

I sleep like the dead.

I go to work where I busy myself clearing a whole patch of brambles that have managed to entangle themselves with a rambling rose. One of the junior gardeners must have missed them earlier in the season and now the bastards are well and truly established. It takes me all day and even through two pairs of gloves my hands are shredded, as are my and arms, thighs and back. I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with a rabid cat and my hair is full of leaves, but who cares? I work until I’m exhausted. Anything to stop my mind wandering to a certain grey-eyed vampire.

Penny skypes on Tuesday evening and I let her talk about her and Micah’s plans for the future; baby, career, house in the suburbs. That’s great, I say. I smile in the right places and tell her this and that about work. Then make the mistake of letting on that I’ve got to find a new flat again by the end of the week.

"And when exactly were you going to tell me this?"

"I only found out yesterday when the estate agent called," I huff defensively.

"But they can’t do that, Simon. This is serious. I mean, don’t you have tenant’s rights or something?"

Like Malcolm Grimm would care about that.

"It’s fine, Penny, I knew it wouldn’t last," I sigh. "I mean I knew from the start that it wasn’t ever going to be long term."

"Yes, but they can’t just give you under a weeks’ notice. I'll speak to Micah, there must be something we can do."

"Not yet with the strategizing, please," I say. "Seriously, Penny, don’t worry."

She looks at me over the top of her glasses and I think she’s about to start spouting tenancy law or something, but then her expression softens.

"But what are you going to _do_ , Simon?"

"I dunno. I’ll figure something out. I mean, I finally got my appointment through, so I guess I’ll be able to get a room in a house somewhere, once I look normal."

"That’s something, I suppose, but still...."

"Plus," I say, trying to sound decisive, "your parents will be pleased, not to have me turning up at seven in the morning five days a week."

"Yeah, I expect you’re right," she laughs.

She doesn’t notice my dead eyes.

 

After two nights of deep of dreamless sleep, my nightmares return with a vengeance. I wake up in a cold sweat and switch on the bedside light with shaking hands. I go to the kitchen, turning on every light as I go, open the fridge and gulp down some milk straight from the carton. I don’t want to go to back bed, not when there’s no one to talk to about it when I wake. I switch on the TV and watch whatever comes up first on Netflix, with enough episodes to see me through the rest of the night. It seems to be some comic book box set, with a good soundtrack and lots of fight scenes. I drift in and out of sleep all night, but don’t have any more nightmares.

I’m so tired the next day that I nearly get knocked off my bike on the way to the Bunce’s. Which, of course, means I get another call from Penny in the evening.

"You look a fright," she says. "Have you lost weight? Simon are you eating properly?"

"It’s good to hear from you again so soon," I say sarcastically.

I immediately regret it. None of this is Penny’s fault.

"My parents are worried about you. Should _I_ be worried? What’s going on, Simon? You can tell me, you know."

"Penny, I’m fine."

I’m clearly not.

But I don’t want to talk about it.

I should tell Penny what happened. I always used to tell Penny what happened, but I can’t. I just can’t.

"They said you nearly had an accident."

" _Exactly. Nearly_. But I didn’t _actually_ , did I? It was just low blood sugar… I forgot to have breakfast."

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s worried; I always have breakfast. I can’t even manage to lie effectively.

Maybe this was how the Humdrum felt. Empty inside. Like I’m full of nothingness.

And so it goes.

Gareth texts – Penny must have told him to – but I decline his offer of a pint with him and Rhys.

And then it’s Sunday and my stuff is in a couple of boxes in the hallway. It’s weird, the flat doesn’t look any different without my things – I have so little of my own. I don’t know how much persuasion it took on Penny’s part, but her parents have said I can stay with them for a while. At least until I’ve had my wings removed and can move into the tiny bedroom of the house share I found just down the road from them. It’s a bit further out, and obviously way less salubrious than this place, but it’s fine. Penny’s dad beeps the horn to let me know he’s waiting outside with the car. I walk from room to room for one last time. It’s a beautiful flat, but it’s not my home. I thought for a while that it might be, but I was wrong. I leave the keys on the kitchen counter, pick up my old Watford kit bag and close the door behind me.

***

I check the address on the letterhead one more time, before pressing the buzzer and waiting on the doorstep. The door, navy blue with a brass knocker, is fairly typical for the area and doesn’t draw attention to itself. In fact, it would be easy to miss it, sandwiched between an antique shop and a little deli on Chiswick High Road. The smell of coffee and pastries is making my stomach rumble and I make a mental note to check it out after my appointment. I look down at my scruffy trainers and wish I’d worn something a bit smarter. But it was these or my work boots. After a moment’s wait, a disembodied voice instructs me to push the door and come up to the first floor. The hallway could be the shared entrance to any flats, with its abandoned piles of takeaway menus and junk mail. You’d never guess that one floor up you’d find a prestigious magickal doctors’ practice.

As I round the bend in the flight of stairs, the shabby woodchip hallway gives way to clean white panels and a pair of glass doors that lead into a luxurious reception area. It’s spotless: shiny white, glass and dark wood surfaces and lush green houseplants, like something out of a glossy brochure. I’m worried that I am going to make the place dirty, but then remember that it’s almost certainly being maintained by low-level magic. I feel so out of place here, so very normal. Apart from the wings and tail, obviously, which are currently crammed into my specially adapted rucksack. I haven’t been to the Bunces’ this morning.

An attractive receptionist in an immaculate white tunic asks me to take a seat and wait to be called through. I find myself sitting by the window looking down to the street below, watching all the people getting on with their lives – waiting for buses, going to work, talking on their phones, shopping, meeting up with friends. It reminds me that I’m actually pretty lucky really. I mean although I was technically responsible for the Mage’s death, I was still able to claim the small inheritance he left me in his will. It wasn’t a huge amount, but enough to cover the cost of my horticulture diploma, buy a decent bike and pay for this operation. I never asked for anything from him, but I’m thankful that he left me enough to get into a position where I am able to support myself, and will never have to rely on anyone for anything once this is over. There’s a cottage in Wales too, but it’s not much more than a shell. Maybe I’ll take some time off work this summer and actually start doing it up.

After a short wait I am shown through to another room. The smartly-dressed magickal consultant, who seems to be in his fifties with grey-brown hair and neat beard, is sitting behind his desk, drinking coffee and squinting at his computer. He takes a long swig of his coffee, taps out a few notes on the keyboard and then spins his chair to face me and stands, extending his hand.

"Good morning, Mr Snow. I’m Doctor Fisher," he says, shaking my hand firmly.

"Um, good to see you, Doctor," I say. "That is... I'm glad to be finally doing something about these," I tilt my head back, indicating my rucksack. "I was beginning to think I'd be stuck with them forever."

"Yes, we meet at last, eh? Sorry for the delay in getting your appointment. Stupidest thing really, my wife and I went on holiday to Seville, just for a week you know, bit of early sunshine, and whilst we were there we got caught up in treating an epidemic of magikal measles."

He smiles broadly, his eyes crinkling. He seems kind and professional, but I can’t take my eyes off the small amount of coffee froth that’s stuck to his moustache. I wonder if I should let him know.

"Oh, right..."

"Nasty affair, very itchy and can lead to all sorts of problems if one catches them whilst pregnant. Not that, ehem, that was an issue for us at our age, but we still ended up being quarantined until it was under control. Damned nuisance, I know. Still, better late than never eh?"

"Um, yeah. I guess."

My hands feel sweaty and I wipe them on my trackie bottoms. I don’t really give a fig about his holiday, or his wife, or magickal measles. I just want to get on with this. Get rid of my wings and tail, start a normal life and forget all about magic and Watford and...

"Right, let’s take a look then, shall we?" He says, gesturing to the screened-off area on the other side of the room.

I slip behind the curtain and shrug the rucksack off, flexing my cramped wings. I unbutton my shirt, hardly daring to believe I’ll be able to wear normal clothes again in a few weeks’ time. I let Dr Fisher know I'm ready and he pushes the curtain aside and looks at my back.

"Where does this tail start then?"

I pull my trackie bottoms down a bit so they’re riding low, exposing the place where it emerges from my lower spine.

"Hmm. Well that's certainly not something I see everyday. Do you think you could lie down on the bed for me I can take a closer look?"

I slip my trainers off and then hop up onto the bed, trying not to rip that stupid paper sheet thing they always have over the top as I shuffle awkwardly to get onto my stomach.  

"Hmm, yes, interesting," he says, prodding at where my wings join my back. "And you say that you’ve had them for just over eight years?"

"Yeah, since the end of my time at Watford."

I don’t mention how or why I ended up with them. He either knows already, or he’s not concerned about that part of the story as he says, "I see. It says on your notes that you no longer have your magic, I’m so sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, how have you been managing?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, it must be rather inconvenient to have wings in Normal society."

You think?

I explain about Penny and the Bunces.

"Yes, well, I can see why it’s time to say goodbye to them. I actually have an opening next week, if that suits you?"

"Yeah. I mean, thanks, that’d be great."

I sit up on the edge of the bed and pick up my shirt.

"So, do you have any questions?"

I hate it when people ask that.  I can never think of anything to say on the spot, but I know as soon as I leave, I'll think of about a million things I want to ask.

"I um, will I have scars? From, you know, where they’ve been removed?"

I don’t have a clue about how magickal surgery works. I don't even know if it's all spells or a mixture of normal surgery and magick.

"Scars?" He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his feet. "Possibly some very fine white ones - unless you want me to leave them to heal naturally?"

"Merlin, no. Get rid of them as fully as you can please. I don’t want any reminders, if possible."

"Any other questions?"

I shake my head.

"One other thing. You may feel a little unbalanced to start with, you’ve been used to counter balancing a lot of weight, so don’t expect to be back to work for a couple of days at least, whilst you adjust."

It’s going to be so weird; I’ve got so used to them. I'm finally going to be able to sleep on my back again.

"It’s a truly fascinating case," he says. "Actually, would you mind if a colleague of mine had a look? He’s relatively new to magickal surgery and is going to be assisting me."

 _"No feel free,"_ I want to spit. _"Shall we sell tickets for the freak show?"_

"That’s fine," I say instead.

I lie back down on the bed, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of his footsteps leaving the room, then muffled voices in the hallway. The door clicks open and Dr Fisher says, "I’m just going to refill my coffee. Go and take a look and then when I get back you can tell me how you’d approach it."

I hear the curtain swoosh, followed by a sharp intake of breath. I guess he’s never seen anything like this before. Then the smell hits me; cedar and bergamot.

I leap off the bed and grab for my shirt, trying to cover myself, we never got undressed in front of each other at Watford and I feel stupidly self-conscious. My cheeks are burning and I realise I’m just standing with my mouth slightly open. But I mean, what’s the etiquette for talking to someone who's broken your heart but doesn't even remember?  Who could still think you're enemies, or at best distant acquaintances?

Baz clears his throat, awkwardly and fiddles with his cufflinks.

"I um…" I start.

At the same time as he says, "I err.. about the other day."

"Don’t…" I say, rubbing the back of my neck with embarrassment, willing this to be over.

"No please, Snow, let me apologise. It was extremely rude of me. I was just really confused as to why I was on a stretcher in my parents’ garden with Simon Snow, of all people, staring intently at me. I thought perhaps you’d finally decided to finish me off."

I look at him. I was expecting the angry Watford Baz, the one with the sneers and the eyebrows that I’d got when he first appeared in my flat. But this? This is more like the emotionally rounded Baz that I’d grown used to after he got his memory back. I feel almost comfortable with him. Almost. I know he doesn’t remember anything from our recent spell of cohabitation, but at least I’ve learnt how to be with this new Baz, to know that he’s not actually always looking to go for the lowest blow.

"What with Fiona and your father around? Not likely…" I huff gently.

"Hmm. So my father said you’d been staying in my flat and had come to see how I was. That was really decent of you, considering…."

"I… well… that is…"

I’m stupidly flustered.

"Thank you for taking such good care of it. I assume you are responsible for the beautiful planters on the balcony?"

I’d been designing them for a while and had decided to finish them, even though I was moving out.

"You said you’d always wanted a garden up there," I say, before realising how crazy that sounds.

His eyes narrow and he raises his chin, looking at me like I might actually be mad.

He shakes his head in bemusement and switches back to professional mode, leaving me kicking myself for being so careless.

"Right, let’s see what we’re dealing with, Snow," he says.

He puts his hand behind my shoulder to turn me round, so he can get a closer look at the wings. His touch is cool, but it’s like fire through my veins. My wings unfurl completely involuntarily.

"Crowley, Snow," he says, jumping back.

"I… I’m sorry. I can’t always control them," I say, flexing my shoulder blades in an attempt to pull the wings back and down.

I look over my shoulder at him, expecting to see a frustrated expression on his face, but instead he’s staring at me with a look of awe. The wings are quite spectacular in a way, I guess.

He reaches out and tentatively pulls my shoulder again, this time to turn me back towards him. My eyes roam over his face, trying work out what he’s thinking.

"No I mean… it…it wasn’t just some weird coma-induced dream was it?"

"What?"

We’re standing so close I can feel his breath on my face. He’s still got his hand on my shoulder and seems to be trying to gauge my expression.

"Simon, when I touched you... I… I remember you… in my flat, saving that waiter’s life, taking me to those beautiful bluebell woods, confronting various members of my family and..."

I’m holding my breath. Does he remember everything? His eyes widen, as though he’s watching a sped up re-run of our last few days together. I drop my shirt and reach up to smooth back that strand of hair that always escapes his hair tie and tuck it behind his ear. My hand lingers by his cheek.

His eyes drop to my lips then back up to meet mine. He swallows.

"And I remember what you said, that you… did you mean it?" he asks softly, his eyes imploring me to say I do.

I answer his question by slipping my hand to the back of his neck and reaching up to press my lips to his. It takes him a moment to respond, but then he pushes both his hands through my hair deepening the kiss. He moves me back, half lifting me onto the bed so that we're the same height. I pull on the hair tie, loosening his man-bun, and run my fingers through his silky black hair. He lets out a small groan into my mouth, biting softly on my lower lip, eliciting a similar moan from me. Dr Fisher could be back at any moment, but I couldn’t give a fuck about that, not now I’ve finally got him where I want him.  I wrap my legs round the back of his thighs drawing him closer, kissing down his neck, before claiming his lips again. I’m just about to start trying to get his tie undone when I feel him smiling against my mouth. I stop kissing him, confused.  Did I do something amusing?

"What?"

"How much duct tape did you use to make that ridiculous contraption that you and Fiona used to try to kidnap me?"

Really? He wants to do this now?

"Ungrateful prick," I growl, letting my legs drop to his sides. "I was trying to save you."

He leans his forehead on mine, grabbing both my hands, entwining our fingers and bringing them up between us.

"I know. I'm sorry. And believe me, you did, Snow," he breathes. "In more ways than one."

He looks at me through long dark lashes, like he still can't believe I'm real. My breath hitches at the intensity of his gaze, and as his arms wrap round me, pulling me tightly against his chest, a warm glow spreads through me. 

I'm finally home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Stranger Still by Blossoms. All the songs and a few others are on the Spotify playlist (link on previous chapter).  
> So, I know there are a few loose ends, but I felt they could probably be left poetically unsaid. However, if you would like an epilogue, just let me know.


	15. The meaning of the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several of you requested an epilogue, so here it is - set about six weeks after the end of the main story.  
> Baz and Simon have gone to the cottage in Wales that Simon inherited from the Mage.

"I’ve always wanted to live by the sea," I say, looking over the tumbledown stone wall to the grassy cliffs, the sea sparkling just beyond.

"Really?" Baz says. He slips his arms around me from behind and rests his cheek on the side of my head. "I've always known you love being outdoors, but you’ve never mentioned wanting to live anywhere other than London."

"Sometimes I _hate_ being in the city," I burst out. "It’s stifling and reminds me of all those summers in care homes." I lean back into his firm chest and sigh, "but it’s where Penny wanted to be, and I needed her so much after Watford. And now it’s where you are, and my job, of course."

Baz doesn’t say anything. I love that he’s learnt to give me space to get my thoughts clear, so I can express myself better than when we were teenagers. I continue to stare out towards the sea and try to put into words how it makes me feel.

"But yeah, the sound of the ocean is something I find kind of calming. It’s rhythmic, you know? And… it changes with the weather, like… like it has a life or a personality of its own. But at the same time it’s just so… so permanent. Like, it isn’t going anywhere, it won’t leave. Plus that big expanse of water feels like an invitation to endless possibilities. And you’re free and not… caged in. So… yeah, the sea’s good."

"You are a wonder to me every day, Snow," he says.

He kisses my cheek, his five o’clock shadow rasping slightly on my own and I turn to look at him. The early evening sun is going some way to soften the bold lines of his face, but his jaw remains strong and his eyes glisten, conveying something deeper than words.

"But, I’m not sure that you’ll be living here in the foreseeable future though," he adds, smile lines appearing round his eyes.

We look back at the single-storey stone cottage, scarcely visible beyond the Welsh jungle we just hacked our way through. The windows are boarded up, the glass long gone, several sections of the roof have caved in and the front door, which may have been red a long time ago, is rotten along the bottom. Nature has moved in to take the place of the humans who abandoned it. Swallows are nesting in the eves and bees and other insects are making the most of the wild flowers and overgrown roses in the garden. A pigeon flaps clumsily in the branches of a gnarled old apple tree, before starting up its call as though stuck on repeat. Various other, smaller garden birds join in the evening chorus, as the sound of the waves carries on the breeze from the beach below. It’ll take a bit of work, but it could be fixed up.

"It’s not so terrible," I say.

Not if you squint your eyes at it from this distance, anyway.

"Snow, it’s a total wreck. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been lived in for over a quarter of a century."

His bluntness snaps me out of my romantic dream of Baz and I staying here tonight. I know he’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. We’ve come a long way today only to find the place is even more run-down than it appeared in the photo from the solicitor. Which to be fair was probably taken some years ago now. The air suddenly feels very humid. I feel sticky, especially after being cooped up in the van all day. I’m also hungry. It’s making me mildly irritable.

"I’ve seen worse," I huff, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts.

"Really? When?" he smirks.

He’s not being unpleasant, just Baz. I toe at a piece of the stone wall that has fallen down, and watch as a small beetle scurries away to safety. I scowl up at him (I know I’m being stubborn).

"You should have seen some of the places I looked at when I was flat hunting."

"And you chose not to live in them because…?" he quirks a questioning eyebrow.

"Okay, so I expect it will probably need a **_clean as a whistle,_** or two." I say, grudgingly. "But it can’t be that bad."

I’m not quite ready to give up, and start pushing my way back the way we came earlier, goose grass and brambles grabbing at my legs as I go. (I really hate brambles.) I dig in my pocket for the key, determined to at least go inside and have a look round.

"I admire your optimism," his calls after me. I can hear him following and swearing under his breath as the undergrowth attacks his jeans.

I’ve reached the cottage now and jiggle the key into the lock. I have to shove the door with my shoulder to get it to open. I peer into the darkness, blinking to adjust my eyes. I think this was probably the kitchen at one point. One of the roof beams has collapsed into the room and a wide shard of daylight penetrates the gloom. Everything is covered with a thick layer of plaster dust and rubble and there are ferns and mosses growing in the places where the light reaches. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Did the Mage live here once?

Baz’s feet crunch on the ground behind me and I spin round to face him. We almost bump chests and I step back slightly; I hadn’t realised he was so close behind. He rests his hand on the doorframe and gives the place a once over.

"Aleister Crowley, I doubt that even the whole Coven could get this habitable enough for us to stay in it tonight," he says.

"We’ve got sleeping bags in the van," I say, pushing my sweaty curls back from my forehead. "Where’s your sense of adventure?"

"I don’t know, Snow. Maybe I left it in the box marked ‘survival instincts’, the one that, apparently, you never received. This place is positively insanitary."

He wrinkles his nose, but his eyes show obvious amusement. He lets his gaze wander over me and I become instantly aware of my t-shirt clinging damply to my chest, and the scratches covering my arms and legs. Merlin, I must look a state. He brushes some dust from my shoulders making me feel like a child. My cheeks flush and I pick a few sticky green buds off my shorts, but I lift my chin, defiantly. I can’t quite stop myself from huffing, "Yeah well, we didn’t all grow up in manor houses full of servants. A bit of dirt never hurt anyone."

Baz though, is not being drawn into an argument. He just sighs half-heartedly and looks up at the sky. I follow his gaze. The weather is starting to turn and huge clouds are beginning to roll in from the sea. He hooks his finger in one of my belt loops, pulling gently.

"How about we go back to the pub in the village grab some supper and see if they have any rooms? We can tackle this tomorrow after a good night’s sleep and a full Welsh breakfast."

My stomach rumbles and I realise it’s been a long time since we stopped for lunch at the services just outside Cardiff. He knows how easy it is to distract me with food. I manage a lopsided grin, despite my disappointment and we make our way back to the rental van (I didn’t feel I could borrow Gareth’s again). As we bump down the track back to the road to the village I find myself contemplating what’s likely to be on the menu at the pub. I think of the food at Watford, and wonder if there’ll be roast beef.

 

"We’ve only got a double left, I’m afraid," the landlady says. "No twins."

I rub the back of my neck awkwardly, but Baz takes it in his stride.

"That’s fine, we don’t mind sharing," he says, flashing her a brilliant smile.

She looks at the pair of us briefly, but then asks for information to put into the computer, scarcely missing a beat. I’m still not convinced he hasn’t got some vampire glamour thing going on.

We open the door to a large room at the top of the house. It has scrubbed wooden floorboards, whitewashed walls and a huge bed with clean white linen and a soft welsh wool blanket over the foot. There’s an en suite through a low archway. It’s spacious, but a bit stuffy right now, so I throw open the windows. The breeze has picked up and the curtains billow around me. I close my eyes, allowing the cool air to play with my hair and breathe in that amazing smell as the first fat drops of rain hit the parched ground.

We’ve not had heavy rain since the day Baz and I went to see his father.

He’d arranged for us to go over for afternoon tea with the family and had been hoping the rain would stop so we could have the top down on his car on the way to Hampshire.

 

_Four weeks earlier_

"We don’t have to do this," I say as I get into the passenger seat. "We’ve got each other now. Seriously, what does the past matter?"

His eyes search my face, trying to work out if I meant what I said. (I meant it.)

"I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who lives as much in the moment as you do," Baz replies, shaking his head as he turns the key in the ignition.

"Well it doesn’t do any good thinking about things you can’t change. Anyway, your father hates me enough as it is, without us having a major confrontation the first time I meet him as your official boyfriend."

"As opposed to my unofficial boyfriend?"

"No as opposed to when he just thought I was a bloody lunatic trying to steal his son’s body."

"Right, yes. I see. If you mean you’re worried about making a good first impression, I’d say that horse officially bolted about eight and a half years ago…"

He’s right. As per usual.

"Fine, but it would be so much easier if they just liked me."

"What does it matter really? _I_ like you. And anyway, Fiona already adores you, believe it or not. She’s a hard nut to crack, but your contemptuous attitude to health and safety, and unerring love for her favourite nephew, won her over."

He gives me a quick grin and pulls out of the flat’s communal gated parking area into the lunchtime traffic. I’m trying to imagine Fiona admitting to liking anyone, let alone the Mage’s heir.

"Fiona? You’re kidding, right?"

"Honestly. She said that you "didn’t let all her crap put you off," and that you were a "stubborn cur," which, believe me, is pretty much Fiona giving you her consent to marry me."

I swallow, trying not to read too much into Baz’s off-handed mention of marriage. I'm not sure if it's something I’ve even considered yet. Yeah, nope. I’ve thought about it before.

"Yeah but…" I start, trying to get back to the original conversation.

"Anyway, it’s not just about us, is it?"

We’ve stopped at a red light. He gently pulls on one of my curls, the back of his knuckles bushing my cheek.

"What d’you mean?" I say, frowning slightly.

The rain is really coming down now, and is pounding on the roof, making it hard to think. Baz pauses, undoubtedly for dramatic effect. I watch the windscreen wipers whip back and forth, trying to compete with the deluge, as I wait for him to answer. The traffic starts moving again, so his eyes are back on the road when he says, "Well if he spelled us innocent, what are the chances that Bunce and Wellbelove were involved at some point? Fiona said we were all in it together."

Oh.

"Oh Merlin… Penny’s going to flip her shit when she finds out."

Baz’s lip curls in a lopsided smirk in response.

"But… she’s in Chicago – how are we going to be able to sort her out? I mean she’s pregnant, it’s not like she can just hop on a plane and get here."

"I’m pretty sure you can still fly when you’re pregnant, Snow."

I don’t need to look to know he’s rolling his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. At least up to the last few weeks or so."

We’re just going over Twickenham Bridge and I look out of the window thinking of the number of times I’ve crossed it on my way to Penny’s parents’ house. Do they know about all this? I mean would they have kept it a secret? I look back at Baz, who’s concentrating on the traffic.

"I guess I should call her then," I say.

I’ve been fiddling with the glove box and now it suddenly springs open, making me jump. I find a tin of travel sweets and give it a shake. (Trust Baz to have posh tins of sweets in the car.) I manage to get the lid off without spilling too many and hold one out to Baz. He parts his lips slightly and I post one in. Popping a sour cherry one in my own mouth, I suck on it for a while, trying really hard not to just crunch it.

"Baz?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you be there when I tell Penny? She can be pretty terrifying."

I glance over at him.

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world," he grins, wolfishly.

"Has anyone ever told you you’re disturbed?" I say.

"It has been noted, on occasion."

 

***

 

"Snow? … Simon?"

Baz steps in front of me and closes the window. I must make a face as he says, "The rain’s beginning to come into the room, love. Are you okay? Shall we go and eat or do you want to shower first?"

He laces his fingers in mine and holds my hand loosely. I know I’m mess, but I’m ravenous.

"Let’s eat."

It’s a good choice.

When the plates arrive, my mouth starts watering at the smell, before I’ve even had the first forkful of roast lamb, new potatoes and spring vegetables. It comes with a little pot of mint sauce and, to my great pleasure, several slabs of ice cold butter for the new potatoes. We wash our meal down with pints of beer and then finish off with heaps of fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream. I don’t leave a single scrap on my plate.

"It’s all local produce," the landlady smiles when I show my appreciation. "You know, if you boys enjoy your food, like, you should go to the local famers’ markets. There’s several nearby and it makes a nice day out."

"I think that would be Simon’s idea of heaven," Baz says, warmly. "We might just do that, if we get time."

"There’s lovely. Well, I’ve got all kinds of information in that rack down by there," she nods over to a little display area full of colourful leaflets. "Just let me know if you need any help or advice or such like."

"Thanks, that’s very kind of you," he smiles.

She clears our plates and bustles off towards the kitchens. I still find it weird how much nicer Baz is to people these days. (Apparently it’s because he’d not trying to hide his feelings from his idiot roommate.)

"I can’t believe you’ve never been here before," he says.

I shrug.

"Yeah, well, Penny tried to convince me, when I first inherited it, but I didn’t really want to know. I didn’t even look at the photo the solicitor tried to show me. I just didn’t care. I couldn’t even be bothered to arrange selling it. "

"I’m glad you didn’t. Sell it that is."

"To be honest, I had enough on my plate just trying to negotiate life without magic, let alone take on some project the Mage had left me. It felt like he was having a last laugh at my expense, and I just couldn’t find it in myself to give a fuck. But, I guess I’m finally in the right place to actually face up to it."

Baz puts his hand over mine and squeezes. I’m still not used to the fact that he doesn’t care about who sees, even in a small Welsh village. ("The only people I care about already know," he’d said. "Everyone else can go fuck themselves if they don’t like it.") I can’t help but glance round the pub, expecting to hear cutlery drop and chairs scrape as people turn to stare in disgust. But nothing happens. No one even notices.

"I know you’ve had a lot to deal with," he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth over my hand. "But it’s just one more thing that you don’t have to face alone anymore. I’ve told you, until you ask me to leave, I’m not going anywhere."

"I’ve not been alone as such, I always had Penny," I say, feeling the need to stick up for absent friends.

"And now you have a handsome young man to fill the hole she left," he deadpans.

I’m not sure if that’s a euphemism.

 

_Three weeks earlier_

"So, where do you want to do this? My place or yours?" I say, wiping my mouth on the heavy red napkin.

We’re sitting at a small table outside Le Petit Bistrot. I’m feeling totally stuffed and a little fuzzy headed from the expensive bottle of wine Baz insisted on getting. I rarely drink wine, especially at lunchtime; I just wanted a coke. But Baz had got so excited when he saw this particular one on the menu he’d ordered it anyway. When the waiter went to pour me a glass too, I looked over at Baz with his pouty mouth and, well, I just caved in.

"We could choose somewhere that is more neutral territory," he says with a slight frown.

"What, like the park or something?"

I rub the back of my neck, not sure about this at all. I can see Baz roll his eyes as he takes a sip from the over-sized glass. There’s a slight flush on his face.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Snow," he smirks. "I didn’t say a public place, I just said neutral. There is a difference, you know."

"Well, where would you feel more comfortable?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, it does involve both of us and I thought… I mean you said you’d… it’s just I’m not quite sure how to… um."

My cheeks are itchy and hot; I’m squirming in my seat. How does he get me like this with the merest tilt of the head or twitch of an eyebrow? I’m a mess and we haven’t even left the restaurant yet. (Maybe it’s the sun.) (Or the wine.) He reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. Grey eyes seek blue and a small smile quirks up the side of his mouth.

"Let’s go back to mine," he says, softly.

"What right now?"

I can feel the panic beginning to rise. His thumb starts to rub back and forth across the top of my hand. It’s become a familiar gesture and it soothes me. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slight huff.

"It’s just round the corner and the sooner we do this, the better. We said we’d do it today, so let’s do it whilst the wine’s still buzzing in our veins. Otherwise it’s just going to be hanging over our heads all afternoon."

"Yeah. Yeah, you’re right," I say. I knew he’d prefer to be there than at my grotty little house share (which seems to smell permanently of cauliflower). "I’m just really nervous and I don’t want to lose…"

"Don’t worry, all right? I’m going to be with you, holding your hand, so to speak. Now let me get this and then we’ll go."

He disappears inside and is back before I have time to wind myself up any further.

"Come on, Snow," he says, knocking back the rest of his Chateau Margaux.

He grabs my hand again, pulling me to my feet, nods at the waiter, then drapes his arm round my shoulders and steers me down the road. We pass the bookshop on the way back to his flat. Hazel is in the window rearranging the display. She glances up as we near, giving us such a knowing look that I can’t help but blush all the way to my tatty trainers.

When we get to Baz’s flat, it strikes me, not for the first time, that it already feels more like home than it ever did when I actually lived there. Not that I’ve spent much time anywhere else in the last week or so. Baz insisted I stay in the spare room here for the first few nights after I had my operation. ("Just in case you need anything, Snow. It’s not like your Normal housemates know anything about healing and we don’t want to be bothering Penny’s parents do we?") Since then, there seems to have been one reason after another for me to be here rather than go back to my own place. Not that I’m complaining, obviously. But we _have_ been putting off doing this. The time just hasn’t been right and I wasn’t quite ready to take the plunge.

Baz flips his MacBook open on the coffee table, pulls me down onto the sofa next to him and does what Baz does best to stop me thinking too much. He kisses me. His fingers card through my hair, catching on the odd knot and pulling slightly. I kiss him back hungrily, pulling at his shirt to free it from his jeans, and climb onto his lap, the wine making me bolder than usual. He releases my mouth to plant hot kisses down my throat, his hands moving to my hips. I tip my head back to give him better access, but he pulls back. I open my eyes sighing, wishing he wouldn’t stop. Baz is looking up at me, his eyes hooded with desire. He lets out a shuddery breath.

"Better?" he says.

I hate how much more self-restraint he has than me.

"Marginally less terrified," I huff, thumping his chest lightly and moving to sit back next to him. "Only now I’ve got to face Penelope with an uncomfortable situation in the trouser department."

Baz smirks and hits call.

To her credit, Penny takes the news that Baz and I are together with hardly a roll of the eyes, saying that it had been, "inevitable seeing as how obsessed we always were with each other at school," and that she was surprised it had taken us this long to, "get our shit together."

We shuffle awkwardly around the subject until she tells us to spit it out.

"So actually, Penny, there’s a funny story about that…" I say.

"Okay…?" she says, frowning.

Baz’s thigh is solid and comforting next to mine and he gives me an encouraging look.

"Baz and I did actually get together, at school."

Penny’s frown flips into a wide-eyed expression of surprize.

"Really? When? What about Agatha? How did I not _know_ about this, Simon?"

"Umm… it was er… after Agatha and I split up, the Christmas we all defeated the Humdrum."

I wait for the penny to drop. It doesn’t take long.

"What do you mean the Christmas _we all defeated the Humdrum_? I didn’t have anything to do with that. That was just you, Simon. You were staying at Watford over the holidays when you noticed strange lights coming from the White Chapel. You went to investigate and found the Mage performing some dark magic ritual on Ebb which summoned the Humdrum. It was too late to save Ebb, but you managed to defeat both of the greatest threats to magic, tragically losing your own in the process. "

She’s using her quoting voice, like she’s telling a story from some ancient text. It makes sense under the circumstances as she will have been fed the information by Mr Grimm.

"Umm. Well, you see the thing is that’s not strictly true. Actually we were all there: me, you and Baz and well, even Aggie, kind of…"

"Agatha? I hardly think she’d have wanted to be a part of…"

"Yes, Agatha. All four of us were involved, although you’re right, Agatha wasn’t exactly pleased to have been drawn into it."

Penny, it seems, is not taking _this_ news quite so well.

"Honestly, Simon, just stop. I think I’d remember if I’d been involved in one of the biggest events in Magickal history," she storms, her eyes blazing.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Why does she always have to think that she’s right? I’m so tempted to shut the MacBook and deal with this later, but I know that would only make things worse.

"Well what exactly _do_ you remember from that Christmas then?" I say, rather more gruffly than I’d intended.

It’s not her fault. I’m pulling the rug on everything she thought she knew about the end of the war-that-never-really-happened.

"I…" Penny screws up her nose. "I remember that you two were on some kind of truce before the holidays. We were trying to find out who killed Baz’s mother. Then Christmas was just… Christmas. You know same old - Mum stressed, too many people in the house, feeling guilty about you being stuck at school because you weren’t at the Wellbeloves…"

"Okay… so what did you do on Christmas Eve?"

"Agatha came over and we made gingerbread people, then she went home for Christmas."

"Then after Christmas?"

"Then… after you killed the humdrum, Agatha moved to California and you and I left school."

"And don’t you think that’s a bit strange? You couldn’t wait to come back for the final year. Why would you suddenly leave school when you were always top of the class? And why would Agatha just run off to America?"

"I…I’m not sure…" her mouth just keeps opening and shutting. To be honest, she looks a bit like a fish. A rather fierce fish in pointy glasses.

Baz has been remarkably restrained throughout the whole exchange so far. He’s been holding my hand, his thigh pressed against mine for support. He shifts so he’s leaning forward slightly and clears his throat.

"That’ll be thanks to my father, I’m afraid," Baz says.

"What?" She turns her glare on Baz. The piercing eye of Sauron, seeking out its new target. "I hardly think your father would ask me to leave school. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed him to intimidate me. What do you _mean_ , Baz?"

"He… didn’t like the idea of Snow and I being together, so he decided to spell us innocent. You and Wellbelove were… collateral damage."

"Collateral damage? _Collateral damage?"_ She says furiously, getting to her feet. "Nicks and Slick, how dare he? Does anyone else know about this? Do my parents? I should report him to the Coven. He has no right to just go round taking people’s memories. Seriously, how dare he? I can’t believe we were all involved in something so major and I can’t remember a thing."

"I um.. think that’s the whole point of **_forgive and forget_** ," I mumble, but she’s not listening to me right now.

She’s been pacing back and forth in the living room of her flat, absent-mindedly rubbing her new baby bump, the large purple stone on her finger glinting in the early morning light. Now she turns and places her hands on the back of the chair she’d been sitting on and glares straight at Baz. Right now, I’m pretty sure that if she could somehow crawl through the computer screen to throttle him, she would.

"Don’t spell the messenger, Bunce," Baz says. "We’ve only recently found out ourselves."

"So you’ve already had your memories restored, but only just thought about telling me?"

Fuck, now she thinks we’ve been hiding this from her. Another thing to add to the list of 'Things to piss off Penny.'

"I… um, that is… it’s been a stressful couple of weeks," I say.

Which is a bit of an understatement.

"To be honest, Bunce," Baz steps in, "Simon was really worried about telling you. He was frightened about how you’d react."

He arches an eyebrow, looking at her pointedly and she seems to deflate slightly.

"Right, yes. Sorry, Simon. It’s just, what am supposed to do now? We know magic doesn’t work over the internet. Am I supposed to come all the way back to the UK?"

"I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you want your memories back…" Baz says.

"But I shouldn’t _have_ to. That bastard should be made to come here and grovel on his knees and beg forgiveness for what he’s done. He’s not only performed illegal magic, but he’s re-written the history books. That’s serious. I don’t care if you two have agreed to move past it, this is important."

Baz winces slightly as she insults his father, but then pales at the implications of his interference.

"Crowley, I hadn’t thought about that." He says.

"Really? It didn’t cross your minds that the magickal world deserves to know the truth?"

"Does it matter that much?" I ask. "The Mage and the Humdrum are gone, surely that’s the most significant thing here?"

Scarily, Baz and Penny both give me the same look.

"It’s about the truth," Penny says.

"It’s a matter of honour," Baz adds.

"Exactly," Penelope finishes.

"Fine," I sigh.

Despite the situation, Penny looks almost excited.

"Right, so we’re going to need a plan," she says.

I groan inwardly. Penny loves a project.

"What about Agatha?" I ask her.

"Ppft, Agatha. She’s left the magickal word behind. If she ever deigns to actually visit any of us, maybe we could let her know. But to be honest, I’d just let sleeping dogs lie."

Penelope has always been rather judgemental.

 

***

 

"This shower is huge," I call to Baz as I step into the cubicle.

The cool water is heavenly and I tip my face up into the flow, letting it wash off the day’s grime.

Within a few seconds, Baz ducks under the archway, already pulling his t-shirt over his head and then attacking his belt.

"What the… Baz?" I laugh.

"Thought you might need a hand washing your hair, Snow," he says,

He’s obsessed with my curls, but I’m not complaining. His fingers massage my scalp in slow, firm circles, pulling slightly and sending tingles down my spine. He turns me to face him and I step back under the water to rinse off the soap. Baz closes the gap between us, kissing me as the water cascades over our heads. Everything is wet and slippery, and the smell of Baz’s expensive shampoo fills my senses, setting me on fire. I push my face into his and he pushes back, holding my neck with one hand, the other gripping my hip. It’s a while before we break, and he presses his forehead to mine, breathing heavily.

"Fuck, Snow… you’re… this… you know you are everything, don’t you?"

It’s not often I have the power to make Baz incoherent. I lean in and kiss him again and this time, we don’t stop.

 

Afterwards, I flop face down onto the bed; the smooth cotton of the sheets feels like silk against my skin.

"Isn’t this better than camping?" Baz asks coming in from the bathroom.

"Mmpf," I manage in some sort of acquiescence.

I feel heavy and content, like every bone in my body has turned to jelly. How is back to forming proper sentences already?

"I mean, it’ll be raining in the kitchen by now," he smirks.

The bed dips as he sits down next to me and I turn my head to look at him. He’s rubbing his hair with a small towel, another, not much bigger tucked round his hips. Fuck me he’s beautiful. He runs his fingers over the scars on my back.

"I’m glad you decided to let these heal naturally," he says. "Scars are like photographs, they remind us of..."

"Of what I once was?" I say into the pillow. "When I used to be less… Normal"

He kisses down the long scar on my left shoulder blade and then feathers them back up the scar on the right, his thumb rubbing small circles on the one at the base of my spine.

"You’re anything but Normal," he says into the nape of my neck, his hair brushing against mine. He nuzzles at my chin, forcing me to turn to face him.

"Simon…"

His stormy eyes search my face, trying to work out what I’m thinking.

"I’m not magic anymore," I say quietly. "I can’t push my magic into you - I can’t even do a simple warming charm."

"And thank Crowley for that," he says. "My job is quite stressful enough, without having to worry about you going off on me. And as for warming spells – that’s what microwaves are for. I’ve told you before and I will keep telling you until you manage to get it into that thick skull of yours. I will always want you. It has always been you, ever since I was twelve years old."

"There’s really been no one else?" I ask.

"I didn’t have time. I worked to plug the void that was created when Father, the humdrum and the war-that-never-was ripped you from me. I never wanted anyone else. I chose you when we first met and I still choose you now."

We’re lying facing each other on the bed.

"And you anchor me," I say. "My therapist kept telling me to find an anchor, but I couldn’t ever get one to stick. I was drifting and couldn’t work out why. Then you came back and it all started to make sense. Your father cut me adrift and I didn’t have any explanation for the huge feeling of loss. I thought it was tied up with losing my magic, but that was nothing compared to the loss of you. I just didn’t know that's what it was, and so I could never resolve it."

"My father has so much to answer for," Baz says, pulling me to his chest. "I’m so sorry, Simon."

I breathe in the scent of his warm skin as he strokes my hair. My feelings are so conflicted. I know I should hate Mr Grimm for what he’s done. I mean, Baz is still steaming, but he also loves his father, in his way, so I don’t want us to be estranged from him.

"Do you think your father will ever accept us?" I say into his neck.

"He just needs time, love. He nearly lost me once – he’s not going to risk that again."

He kisses the top of my head.

"Besides, I think he’s more worried about Penny and Micah than he is about us," he says.

I flop onto my back, and look up at him.  He's grinning and I laugh sleepily, remembering the look on Mr Grimm’s face when Penny had confronted him.

When she pointed out to him that he had basically cooked the history books, lied to the authorities, the Coven and the Old Families, his cool indifference slipped and his face went ghostly white, almost matching his hair. After a lot of arguing, (a lot) they’d come to a deal: He’d go to Chicago and give her back her memories in exchange for her holding her tongue. But I know he’s still worried that, despite her promise, she’ll drop him in it. He doesn’t need to be, of course, Penelope is very trustworthy, but it’s good to keep him on his toes.

I still think that he got off too lightly, but Penny disagrees.  She says his biggest punishment is that Baz still ended up with me despite all his plotting to keep us apart. Plus in his version of events, he didn’t get to boast about Baz’s role in defeating the Humdrum. I mean, that Old Family pride must've taken a serious battering on both accounts. He'd tried to say that he was done with the lot of us, but Baz maintains that he just doesn’t like being manipulated – least of all by his queer son, the Mage’s heir, Mitali Bunce’s daughter and some unknown American.

So, the ‘official’ version of events from that snowy Christmas Eve still stands. Penny eventually came to terms with the fact that the truth will never come out and that knowing she played a part in it is all she’ll get.

"Honestly, Simon, I’ve got to learn to let the past go.  I mean, I've got more important things to focus on these days," she says, patting her ever-growing baby bump. "And anyway, it’s not like the Humdrum is coming back."

 

Baz shivers and gets under the covers. I’m actually enjoying the fact the oppressive heat has passed, but I decide to join him.

"Tomorrow, we can go back to the cottage and see what we can do about fixing it up," he says as he shuffles to get comfortable. "We can have a bonfire and burn all the rubbish."

"You're such a pyro," I laugh drowsily and then add, "do you think the storm will have done much damage?"

He presses his cool, firm chest to my back and tangles his ankles in mine.

"I’m sure it’s weathered worse," he says sleepily.

"Bit like us…"

We lie quietly listening to the wind and rain beat against the window and watching the occasional fork of lightening that still splits the sky.  It feels safe and cosy here with Baz wrapped round me, breathing steadily.

"We’re going to need to find a shop, get some stuff for lunch," I say, after a while.

He huffs lightly into my hair.

"I should have guessed that’s what made you go quiet," he mumbles.

I’m too tired to argue that I don’t always think about food. I doubt I’d win anyway.

"Don't worry. I’m sure the pub can provide us with sandwiches to take with us,” he says.

"Mmm. And maybe some crisps."

Baz chuckles softly.

"Goodnight, Snow."

 

I wake early. Baz is still sleeping, face pressed into the pillow, covers right up round his shoulders, one arm flung above his head. His hair is a mess, having gone to sleep whilst it was still damp. He looks like a sleeping angel. Or a sleeping vampire, I guess.  

We'd fallen asleep watching the storm last night, so the open curtains reveal the pale grey of the dawn sky. I should go back to sleep myself, but I feel restless; itching to get started on exploring the cottage. I roll over and check my phone. It's only 4.45am. The storm has blown itself out and the sun will be up shortly. Baz stirs in his sleep, no doubt wondering where his heat source has gone.

"Baz..." I whisper, then a bit louder, "Baz!"

"Hnngh," he groans into his pillow.

"Let's go to the beach."

"s'middle of the night, Snow. Go away."

"C'mon Baz," I say, shaking his shoulder.

"Ugh.. later... time is it?"

"Early, but I want to watch the sunrise. Please baby."

That's got his attention. He loves it when I call him that. He rolls over onto his back and opens one eye, like he's testing whether it will kill him or not.

"Yes, you're awake!" I crow.

He's still only got one eye open.

"Seriously, can't we watch the sunset later?"

He must be tired.  He was the one who noticed the beach faced east and had said about watching the sunrise.  I guess he just hadn't factored in what an early start that would mean this time of year. I get out of bed and start pulling on my shorts.

"Come on. We can be back in time for breakfast..."

I chuck his jeans and one of my big hoodies at him. It'll be quite chilly out at this time in the morning and I don't want him to have any more excuses.

"You're not going to let me go back to sleep now, are you?" he sighs, sitting up.

"Probably not," I laugh, pulling on my trainers.

He sighs dramatically.

"All right, you absolute nightmare."

But I can hear the smile in his voice.

 

We follow the path along the cliffs as the sky starts to lighten, with the slightest pale orange glow at the horizon. The path leads to a stone arch and a flight steps that have been built into the cliff.  We race down to the deserted beach below and I grab Baz's hand running across the pristine sands. We flop to the ground and I pull Baz so he's sitting between my legs, his back to me.  I wrap my arms round him rubbing his arms to keep him warm and hum into his hair.  After a few minutes, the sun rises at the far end of the bay, reflecting in the calm water and illuminating the golden sand. This is just what I wanted.

"It's beautiful," Baz says.

"Worth being dragged out of bed for?"

"Absolutely."

We stay like that for a while and then my stomach rumbles.

"About that full Welsh breakfast you promised me..."

"Always thinking about your stomach," Baz teases.

But as I follow him back up the steps to the cliff tops, admiring the view of his jean-clad arse, I have to disagree. Food isn't the only thing on my mind. 

I take one last look at the beach, so glad that by coming to Wales I've finally faced the last of my demons.  

The sun continues its ascent, its warmth already noticeable.

It's going to be a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Northern Sky by Nick Drake.  
> Playlist on Spotify "Snowbaz just like heaven"  
> The beach they go to is one of my favourite places in the world - Barafundle Bay in Pembrokeshire. 
> 
> Thanks for all you lovely comments and Kudos.  
> Love, Rosie x


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